When In Doubt: What You Didn't Know
by Retired 5.01.2012
Summary: Just how did Nightshade and Ratchet become more than rookie-and-teacher? The extra snippets of When In Doubt. Must have read chapter one or else you will NOT understand. Chapter Nine: Punishment ensues.
1. Lost Puppy

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Nightshade's Adventures…

...As A Boy.

**You must have read chapter one of ****When In Doubt**** to understand what's going on.**

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form. I only own my OC's and ideas. :D

Nightshade as a boy is so deliciously awkward. I feel guilty. :)

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"I am _so_ fragged," Nightshade muttered quietly, peeking around a corner. He had been escorted to the base just yesterday and he was already lost. What a great first impression! He had training with Ironhide due to begin in exactly eighteen Earth minutes and he was no closer to the shooting range than he was an hour ago. He had gotten up at the crack of dawn to impress Ironhide, but instead, he had managed to get lost in the process. Nightshade didn't even know why he was wanted in the shooting range! He was a _spy_. He wasn't _built_ for heavy weaponry – he could barely handle his small plasma rifle!

There was nothing at the end of the hallway, except for a few doors marked as storage. The other way looked promising. There was a door marked as a staircase, the little red sign beckoning welcomingly to him. He bit his lower lip.

_I guess I should give it a shot. It's not like I can get any more lost,_ he thought wryly, before scampering toward the doors.

As he descended the stairs, Nightshade began musing on his life on the base. It was going to be very interesting. The mechs on base were the cream of the crop, the best that Cybertron had to offer. Every single mech was a solid individual, nothing like the frightened little rookies from the Academy – most greenhorns were too afraid to say or do anything that deviated from the norm. Here Nightshade snorted. The mechs were very…different.

First there was Sunstreaker, the antisocial artist, who had lovingly been nicknamed Sunny by his brother. Sideswipe was an overgrown youngling, Nightshade decided, for the mech loved nothing more than playing videogames until the wee hours of the morning. Red Alert was a hoot – he was juggling two jobs right now. Not only was he in charge of their security outposts, he regularly worked in the medical bay when things got nasty. And speaking of medical bay… Nightshade winced at the memory of meeting Ratchet. He had almost whacked Nightshade, but thankfully, he had managed to duck and run like the wind. Bluestreak was a twitchy little glitchmouse, Hound had a filthy CPU, and Ironhide was the worst of them all – Ironhide bragged about his conquests regularly in the commons room. Nightshade shook his cranial unit. Where was he? There were stairs and a long dark hallway.

Four flights of stairs downwards later, and he was no closer to the shooting range. He was at least on the ground level, though, he mused, and pushed open the door. There was nothing except the command center and the medical bay and communications center. Nightshade groaned quietly, rubbing his optics gently. The shooting range was all the way on the _other_ side of the base, but he could still make it on time if he was on foot. The bell signaling first shift rang softly, awakening the early rising mechs.

Nightshade then immediately began sprinting toward the shooting range.

With thirty nine seconds to spare, he arrived only to find that the shooting range was empty. There was no one there. Had he gotten the time wrong? He rechecked his schedule. He was due to start his training at…_frag._ He now had to wait an hour before Ironhide showed up. He had, indeed, misread the schedule.

Nightshade groaned and collapsed onto the ground, waiting. At least he could brush up on his arms manual. He turned on the slightly dusty, very old manual and began reading diligently.

Ironhide peered down at the floor. There, curled up on a bench was a recharging mech, drooling slightly on a worn manual. Ironhide poked him gently, ignoring his sleepy grunt. Mirage, Bluestreak, and two other sharpshooters peeked out from behind him. He finally lost it and whacked the rookie. The mech let out a rather feminine shriek and leapt to his feet, awkwardly saluting him as he tried to regain his balance and not drop his holocube. Mirage winced and clapped his hand to his face. Nightshade was a hopeless case.

"Sir! I'm so sorry! I got lost and I couldn't find my way here but I woke up too early and I ended up getting the wrong schedule so I've already been here for an hour-"

"Calm yer processes, kid. Yer givin' Bluestreak a run for his money," the warrior growled, tossing him a rather large and old rifle. Nightshade barely caught it and he grunted under its weight. The other three mechs in the room shot him amused looks as he staggered over to the counter, all but dropping it onto the surface. Nightshade turned, rubbing his cranial unit gently as an awkward silence descended into the room.

"What d'ya know about high powered, arm mounted rifles," he shot in Nightshade's direction.

"Not much, sir," he squeaked out, cringing under the ominous glare he received.

"I asked ya what you knew, not how much," he growled. Nightshade's optics widened slightly.

"Th-they shoot out energy bullets?" Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say to the weapons master. He froze in his tracks. The other four mechs in the room shot Nightshade sympathetic looks, as if though these were his last few moments alive. Mirage rolled his optics subtly. Nightshade's first day on a permanent outpost and Ironhide was about to kill her. Great.

"If that's all ya got ta say, why are ya in here?"

"I-I was t-told to report to you, sir," Nightshade said softly, hanging his head in shame. What an impression to make on the weapons specialist – prove that rookies such as himself did not know anything at all. Ironhide sighed heavily, shuttering his optics, and counting slowly.

"Bluestreak, you're with him. Teach him the basics," Ironhide growled, turning to the gunner. Ironhide did not want to have to kill one of the rookies this early in the morning.

"But, sir, I already know how to use a small rifle," Nightshade began protesting.

"But, sir, I'm not qualified for this, you should probably have Mirage help her, he's the better teacher-"

"Mirage is teaching Frostwheel more advanced techniques," Ironhide growled, "And if you don't know how to use a large weapon, I can only assume that you don't know anything else. Now shut up and don't try my patience."

Nightshade hung his head in shame.

"Alright, sir. Come on, let's get started. I'm Bluestreak, what's your name?"

"My name is Nightshade," he said quietly, not looking him in the optic. Great – his first day in the shooting range and he was already back to basics.

"So what _do_ you know?"

"I already told him – I know how to use small weapons _only_. I've never used anything bigger than my rifle," Nightshade said sadly, staring down at the counter.

"Let's get started then. Arm mounted guns are easy to use. They integrate directly into your neural network. All you have to do to is aim and shoot. You don't need to use a sight if you know what you are aiming at. You'll be using a training one today. Now, give me your arm," Bluestreak said, picking up the weapon easily with one hand. Nightshade held his arm out and watched as Bluestreak held the weapon to the offered arm, tinkering with the wires. With a click and a whirr, the weapon booted up and began glowing. Bluestreak then began running tests, all the while holding onto the barrel of the gun.

Then he let go of the weapon. Nightshade was quite unprepared for this action. As a result, his entire upper body jerked downwards under the weight of the cannon. He let out a soft curse, struggling to pick up the weapon. After some ingenious balancing tricks, Nightshade could finally stand under his own power.

Bluestreak shot him an amused look before continuing with his lecture.

"Now shoot it toward that target. If you use your firewalls and interface properly, you won't have to do much aiming with your arm. It's a self guided system. It will compensate for quite a lot. It's difficult to miss the target," Bluestreak said kindly, demonstrating for Nightshade. He nodded as Bluestreak let off a round. The bullet tore straight through the center of the bull's eye and Bluestreak nodded approvingly.

"Now, you try," Bluestreak said, watching as Nightshade struggled to lift the weapon. Nightshade screwed up his face plates, as though thinking too hard, and tried to shoot at the bull's eye. Nightshade honestly tried to hit the target, he honestly did.

However, the laws of physics (more specifically: the conservation of momentum) applied in this scenario. Nightshade was thrown back onto his aft by the blast. The bullet went rogue and bounced down the lane, tearing into ceiling tiles. Ironhide and the other mechs in the room dropped to the floor. As soon as the energy flare dissipated into the air, Nightshade sheepishly lifted his head from the floor. Ironhide shot him a scathing glare.

"What the _frag_ was that, Nightshade," Ironhide snapped. Mirage had tried to help him stand but Ironhide shook his arm from the gunner's grip. Nightshade's optics widened slightly as he tried to stammer out an answer.

"I-I told you I can only use a sm-small weapon," he said pathetically, wincing as Bluestreak immediately dismantled the weapon on his arm. The weapon clattered to the floor and Nightshade hissed softly at the sudden lightness of his arm.

"Don't worry about it, Nightshade. I'm sure if Ironhide had listened to you this wouldn't have happened," Mirage said kindly, helping Nightshade to his feet. Nightshade nodded and yelped, clutching at his shoulder. The recoil action of the rifle had actually broken something in his shoulder cuff. Great.

"I'll take her-him to the medical bay," Mirage said hurriedly, putting a gentle hand between Nightshade's shoulders and pushing. Ironhide, Bluestreak, and Frostwheel watched after them, curious and pained expressions on their face plates.

Maybe this wasn't the best place for him.

"Nightshade, you need to be more careful," Mirage said quietly from the corner of his mouth.

"You don't think I'm trying? I _told _him that I couldn't use that weapon, it was too big!"

"Nightshade, just calm down. We'll figure something out. You know you can't afford…to. You know," Mirage said gently, gripping Nightshade's shoulder. Nightshade sighed and nodded. Mirage pushed the doors to the medical bay open. Ratchet was dozing off in a corner, pretending to read a holocube. Nightshade smiled softly, clutching at his arm. Ratchet jerked out of his stupor, wiping at his optics. He frowned.

"You were in here just yesterday, Nightshade," he grumbled quietly, motioning Nightshade over.

"I'll see you later," Mirage said, beating a hasty retreat. Nightshade immediately began to protest, but Mirage had already disappeared. Ratchet approached and examined Nightshade's shoulder.

"How did you do this to yourself," Ratchet asked, and then stated, "Go take a seat on that table."

"Ironhide wouldn't listen to me," Nightshade said, "I told him that I wasn't compatible with an arm mounted cannon, but did he listen to me?"

"Ironhide's computing center doesn't generate much wattage," Ratchet groused, peeling back the armor on Nightshade's shoulder. Nightshade blinked. Was Ratchet trying to crack a joke? It wasn't at all like how they had described him! Sunstreaker had mentioned something about blood during a short debriefing session with Optimus, but Nightshade hadn't had the time to look it up, so he didn't know what it referred to. Ratchet began tinkering around in the space, watching Nightshade from the corner of his optic.

The mech looked so awkward and out of place, no matter the situation. Ratchet felt sudden pity for him. His optics brightened upon finding the gear and he tugged it out, ignoring Nightshade's yelp of pain. The gear had been completely stripped. Ratchet sighed and almost dumped it into the waste parts bin. Then he took a second glance at it.

The gear was too small to be a regular mech's. It was also thinner. What the slag? Ratchet shook his cranial unit and began digging through the bins on the counters, trying to find a suitable replacement. After five breems, he could not find a single one. They were either too big or too thick. Ratchet felt his patience start to drain away.

"Nightshade?"

"Yes, sir," Nightshade asked quietly, hoping to Primus that the mad medic did not suggest a physical exam. If he opened his chest plates, Ratchet would know that he was a femme immediately. Femme sparks were much darker than their mech counterparts. They were also much denser and emitted dark blue light, sometimes indigo, instead of the standard mech electric blue. If Ratchet were somehow colorblind, he wouldn't be able to miss her carrying hold or extra energy stores. And if, somehow, Ratchet managed to miss everything else, her frame would be a complete giveaway – as a dancer, her frame was very flexible and delicate. Even though Nightshade had been on the base less than a day, he had already heard the other mechs talking about what they'd do to a femme if they got one alone. Nightshade shuddered slightly, praying diligently.

"Are these parts custom made," Ratchet asked, noting the intricacy of the spokes on the gear. Nightshade nodded hesitantly. It couldn't hurt to admit that, right? There were plenty of reasons a mech could have custom made parts.

"All of my parts are custom made…that's why I'm so small," Nightshade admitted, rubbing the back of his head ruefully. It wasn't a complete lie. He was small because he was actually a she. All of 'his' parts were custom made because 'he' was a rare femme and an even rarer dancer. Ratchet nodded, pleased with Nightshade's answer.

"You'll have to wait until I have one made for you. Until then, you'll be on your own," Ratchet said, gauging the mech's reactions.

"But, what am I going to do? I just can't sit around," Nightshade said, flailing his one good arm slightly. Ratchet rolled his optics once more, this time not so subtly. He turned to his counter once more, muttering under his breath slightly. He fished out a few yards of mesh. Ratchet held it up to Nightshade's frame, squinting slightly. Then he managed to fashion a rather awkward sling for Nightshade's arm.

"When will it be done – "

"You'll just have to wait. The part will be ready in a few hours. Until then, you can stay in here. And keep it quiet. I've got other patients," Ratchet said, turning and making his way to his office. Nightshade peered around.

"What other patients," he groused out, glaring at the back of Ratchet's head. Ratchet ignored his comment and slammed his door shut. Nightshade sighed and picked at the mesh wrapped around his body. What was he going to do now? Without an arm, he was pretty much useless.

The only thing he could do was read…and there was a library a few meters away. He shot a look toward Ratchet's office. The mech's upper body was already sprawled across his desk. Was he recharging? Nightshade slid to the floor and immediately landed on his aft. He winced. Normally his programming could compensate for having his balance thrown off by a bit, but with his entire arm out of commission, it was next to impossible to balance properly.

Nightshade hauled himself onto his feet and snuck quietly toward Ratchet's medical library. He was in luck! Ratchet had left the door open! There was a pedestal of some kind in the anteroom of the library. He approached and saw a rather large holocube sitting on the polished wooden surface. Then he curiously turned it on. It fizzled to life and a massive list scrolled past his optics. It was the listing of the entire contents of the library! Nightshade began scrolling through the list eagerly.

He finally settled on one holocube and scurried into the massive room. It was packed with shelves and holocubes, all of which were dusty and hardly ever used. Nightshade then began searching for the cube, reading past the many titles. They were organized by subject. Atrophy…Advanced Diseases…Organic and Inorganic Babies…Space Barnacles…Basics!

Nightshade peered up at the basic medicine holocube. He reached for the cube and came up short. Why was he created so short and vertically challenged? This was a serious disadvantage! He pouted unhappily. Then he jumped, scrabbling for it, to no avail. He landed heavily on his feet, staggering a few feet before regaining his balance. This was just dandy – too short to reach the top shelf and disfigured and lopsided. Then he huffed, turning and looking around for a ladder of some kind. Nightshade spotted a rusty looking fold out ladder and dragged it close by the shelf. He fumbled for a moment, trying to open the ladder and force it to cooperate. Finally, with a shriek of protest, the rusted metal finally unfolded and Nightshade could climb onto the ladder.

Even on the topmost step, he could not reach the cube. He strained and strained, his fingertips barely brushing up against the polymer casing. Nightshade gave a dejected whimper and jumped slightly, trying to grab a hold of the casing.

"You're going to fall if you keep that up," came a voice from the doorway. Nightshade yelped and tried to steady himself, but it was in vain. The ladder slipped and he grabbed at the shelf, desperately trying to keep from falling and earning himself a week long stay in the medical bay. He teetered precariously and he shuttered her optics. This was it, he was going to die here! After a long moment, Nightshade realized that he was not falling.

A pair of hands around his waist steadied him.

"Easy there, kid. Let me get it for you," the voice said kindly. Nightshade nodded, grabbing the arm and stepping to the floor. Red Alert shook his head slightly as the tiny mech leaned against a wall, clutching at his chest plates. Then Red Alert stepped onto the stair, grabbed the holocube, and handed it to Nightshade.

"You alright?"

"Thank you, Red Alert," Nightshade said, trying to steady his voice. Red Alert gave a curt nod, quirking an optical ridge in Nightshade's direction. What was Nightshade doing in the library? Did Ratchet actually grant him permission? It couldn't be!

"Did Ratchet say you could come in here," he asked nonchalantly. Nightshade froze.

"Uhm…"

"Just don't let him catch you in here. He won't be happy," Red Alert said, waving the mech toward the doorway. Nightshade nodded, clutching the holocube to his chest. Red Alert had to bite back his laughter as the small mech zigzagged across the room back to the recharge berth. Then he couldn't hold it back when the mech discovered the he could not get on the berth. Ratchet still hadn't gotten the smaller berths out of storage. Nightshade shot Red Alert a malicious glare when he burst into laughter.

"Not another word," Nightshade growled quietly, watching as Red Alert dug out a small crate for him to step onto. Why was his height – or lack there of – so amusing? If only Red Alert was his height. Red Alert would never tease him about it again.

"I didn't say a word," Red Alert said, mildly offended. Nightshade nodded and accepted the crate, stepping onto it before hoisting himself onto the berth. Nightshade plopped onto his aft and turned the holocube on eagerly.

"Are you interested in medicine," Red Alert asked from where he stood at a sink. Nightshade nodded shyly. Red Alert made a thoughtful humming noise before walking over to him.

"You know, Nightshade. If you study enough between now and before I leave for my away mission, you could apply to be an assistant," Red Alert offered gently. It wasn't that he and Ratchet couldn't handle the medical bay on their own, it was that with the incoming shuttles, they would need help.

"But how would I be able to do that," Nightshade asked, his spark leaping in excitement. Red Alert thought for a breem. Normally, a potential applicant had to go through school, but these were special circumstances. And he could test the rookie's mettle while he was at it, too.

"You'd have to sneak in here after closing time and study then," Red Alert said giving Nightshade a serious look. Now was when most mechs backed down – no one dared sneak into the medical bay lest they face the wrath of Ratchet.

"And study what? Is there a specific list of what I need to do?"

Red Alert blinked. Did Nightshade really think that through? He continued.

"Yes, I can go and get it for you right now," Red Alert said, hiding the glee in his voice easily. Either this mech had some serious ball bearings, or he was actually interested in working in the medical bay. Nightshade smiled happily – maybe he would be able to prove that rookies weren't so dumb, after all! Nightshade was so caught up in his excitement that he did not notice that Red Alert went into Ratchet's office, not his own.

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"Ratchet, where's that study list that you give to rookies," Red Alert asked, leaning against the door to Ratchet's office. Ratchet was too distracted by his work to actually process what Red Alert had asked.

"Uhm…third shelf, second holocube – wait. What," Ratchet asked.

"I think I've found us a student," Red Alert said, a smirk threatening to break out on his face plates. Intrigued, Ratchet set his work down. Someone actually wanted to work with them? Maybe he should give their computing center a thorough examination. That wasn't normal.

"Who?"

"That kid you've got out in the medical bay. I caught him in the library," Red Alert said, a soft snicker escaping his vocal processors. Ratchet raised one optical ridge. Nightshade seemed to be too nice and innocent to try something so stupid.

"Did you tell him what happened to rookies in _my_ library?"

"No, I didn't have the spark to," Red Alert said, shrugging slightly, "Besides. He's reading your basic medicine holocube. I asked him if he was interested. Primus help the kid – he's got nowhere else to work."

"How predictable. Bringing home the strays and begging if you can keep them," Ratchet said, shaking his head. Ratchet picked up his digipad and continued working. Red Alert sighed – really, a student would be good. They would both get their 'continued education' hours _and_ their required lecture hours at the same time. They would even get someone to clean up after them.

"Come on, Ratchet. I think the kid's got potential. I told him that he'd have to sneak in to study and he agreed without thinking about it," Red Alert said, planting his hands across Ratchet's desk. Ratchet looked up from his work and sighed.

"Fine, Red Alert. You can have your student if he even manages to pass the aide exams. He has four orns to study. Then his skid plates are mine," Ratchet said, waving Red Alert from the room. Red Alert grinned happily.

"Thanks, Ratchet. This is going to be great," Red Alert said, grabbing the study list and leaving the office. Nightshade was patiently waiting outside, swinging his legs over the edge of the berth. Red Alert stopped by the counter, sizing up the tiny mech. Nightshade was rather quiet, didn't ask much, and did as he was told. All three qualities were a necessity to survive training with Ratchet. Red Alert smirked – just like when he was a rookie, too.

"Finished with the cube already?"

"Yes, it wasn't anything that I didn't already know," Nightshade said, shrugging slightly. One optic ridge on Red Alert's face rose slowly. At his questioning look, Nightshade elaborated slightly.

"I taught myself basic first aid after one of my friends was nearly killed," Nightshade said, shrugging, "Moon Racer let me watch some of her procedures, too."

"Alright, smart aft. How many doses of accelerant are you allowed to administer in a case of radiation fall out," Red Alert tossed out, hoping to startle the rookie. Nightshade blinked at him.

"_I'm_ not allowed to administer anything. If you must know, you don't administer accelerant in those cases. It would only increase the rate of radiation escaping," Nightshade said, shrugging once more. Red Alert nodded. It seems that the rookie _did_ know more than he let on.

"What are the contraindications for using an antishock clamp?"

"Let's see…carrying, pump failure, oil pressure over five hundred millimeters of mercury, exposed wires or lines, clogs in the filter, and computing center damage," Nightshade rattled off, counting off the contraindications. It was Red Alert's turn to blink in surprise.

"Good. Here's the list, along with required and suggested readings. You have four orns," Red Alert said. Nightshade goggled at the list. There were so many topics…and so little time. There was no way he could finish this! Nightshade swallowed down his fear and dismay, and nodded.

"I'll do my best."

"I wouldn't expect anything less. Don't let Ratchet catch you in the library. I'll leave the door open at night so that you may get in. Take as many holocubes as you need, but be sure to have them back before Ratchet gets here in the morning," Red Alert said, narrowing his optics slightly as he gauged Nightshade's reaction. The mech simply nodded.

Ratchet watched from his office and listened over the open comm. line. He winced when Red Alert assigned the topics. Normally students would have at least ten orns to study. There was no way that Nightshade would be able to accomplish all of that, unless he put some serious overtime in. Ratchet drew back from the window. If the kid finished half of the list, he would be very surprised.

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And that's it for this chapter. I'm going more in depth with how their relationship blossomed. I hope y'all enjoyed this, because my muse for WID has disappeared. :(


	2. Gullible

Chapter Two: Gullible

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape or form.

Blame the content of this chapter on the lovely mixture of pain killers, antibiotics, and lack of sleep. :)

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Nightshade eagerly darted around his room, throwing things ever which way, struggling to get ready. Today, he was going to meet his first human! Now, Nightshade's systems were still offline, thanks to the miscalculation in landing speed, but Ratchet promised to have everything back up and running within the end of the week. Poor Nightshade did not know a thing about humans, which was a fact that Ratchet and Red Alert were both well aware of.

A fact that they could exploit for their own entertainment. Ratchet felt a treasonous smirk grow across his face as the ever perky and peppy Nightshade entered the medical bay. Red Alert shot him a wink, setting their plans in motion. Ratchet then waved Nightshade over, bidding him to stand still. Ratchet began running scans. Confusion crossed what part of Nightshade's face he could see – the mech's lower face was covered by a mask, like Wheeljack's.

"What are you doing," he asked curiously, noting that Ratchet had had the decontamination showers set up in a corner.

"Just getting you ready to meet the humans," Ratchet said nonchalantly. Red Alert decided to pipe up and add his two cents into the conversation.

"Nightshade, have you had trouble sleeping lately? Any weakness?"

"Uhm…no…and no. Why? What's going on," Nightshade asked warily. Ratchet sighed gently, placing a soft hand on Nightshade's shoulder.

"Nightshade, we just want to make sure you don't catch anything from the humans," he said, giving Nightshade the most serious look he could muster up. Red Alert momentarily grinned – Nightshade _couldn't_ believe them, no one was _really_ that gullible, were they? A hesitant nod from Nightshade almost made Red Alert burst into laughter. The little rookie believed them!

"Alright, be careful of the organics. They spew fluids that dissolve armor," Red Alert said, ignoring Ratchet's glare. If Red Alert started off too dramatically, Nightshade would realize that it was a joke –

"Really," Nightshade asked, slightly breathless. Ratchet blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected it to be this easy.

"Yes. Don't let make optic contact with them. They can read computing centers," Ratchet added, turning to dig through a cabinet so that his grin wouldn't give them away. Nightshade looked frightened at this new discovery.

"Is there any way to stop it," Nightshade asked. If they managed to read his memories, they would realize that he was a _she_, and who knew what would happen if a mech got a hold of her! Would _she_ be stuck breeding sparklings for the rest of her existence? Nightshade shivered slightly at that prospect.

Red Alert felt a little guilty for what they were about to do to Nightshade, but it was common knowledge that rookies had to survive pranks from the chief medical staff before they were accepted. Ratchet grinned – he was going to have _so_ much fun with this one!

"And don't let it get its paws in any of the seams of your armor – they like to eat chips," Ratchet said, trying to sound as genuine as possible. Nightshade nodded rapidly. No wonder Megatron had been taken down by a human! If they were anything like how Nightshade's mentors described, a handful of humans could have taken down the entire Decepticon army!

After an hour of preparations, Nightshade felt that he was ready to face the humans. He had been thrown into the decontamination shower for twenty minutes and thoroughly scrubbed down with an 'anti-organic shield' of Ratchet's own invention. He was debriefed on situations in which he must run away from the human, appropriate greetings and conversation topics, and all sorts of regulations. Ratchet and Red Alert motioned Nightshade to follow them, and they set off.

"Uhm, where are we going to meet the humans," Nightshade asked tentatively.

"In one of the hangars. Bumblebee is bringing his charges over," Ratchet answered.

"Why hasn't Bee caught anything," Nightshade asked, a small frown on his face plates. Ratchet fumbled for a second, but thankfully, Red Alert had a quick processing center.

"Oh, he's been immunized against their diseases," Red Alert said, waving away the question. Nightshade nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. Bumblebee, while just as young as Nightshade, was a seasoned warrior, having actually fought against Megatron. Nightshade wouldn't have been able to contain himself had he known that Bee was being unnecessarily exposed to human germs without proper protection!

Finally, they arrived at the hangar. Bee was standing, talking to the humans by his feet. The two medics walked into the room, calling out a greeting. Nightshade scampered in behind Ratchet, effectively hidden by his mass.

"Samuel, Mikaela," Red Alert said politely, bowing his head to the humans. The teenagers waved up at him. Mikaela cocked her head slightly, noticing something shift behind Ratchet.

"Where's that new guy, Ratchet," Sam asked, leaning back on Bee's foot. Red Alert turned around, his mouth ready to speak. When he did not see Nightshade, his mouth snapped shut. Then he started laughing.

"Nightshade is cowering behind Ratchet," Red Alert said, leering at the tiny mech. Ratchet whirled around and glared at the now sheepish Nightshade.

"Go say hello," Red Alert said, a sly smile on his face. Ratchet nodded eagerly, gently pushing the mech toward the humans. Mikaela, Sam, and Bumblebee were instantly on guard at the predatory smirks on the medics' faces. Nightshade edged closer, warily watching for poisonous barbs and acidic slime spewing ducts. Their grins grew wider.

Nightshade crouched about ten feet away from the humans, watching them curiously.

"My name is Nightshade," he said a bit awkwardly. Sam walked forward, holding his hand up. Nightshade jumped back slightly and landed on his aft with a loud thump.

"Please don't eat my logic chips," Nightshade said, his optics wide. Once Nightshade had made the comment, it was too much for Ratchet or Red Alert to hold back their laughter. Sam stopped dead in his tracks, his mouth working silently.

"Logic chips?"

Nightshade turned to the mechs standing behind him, laughing and holding one another upright. Nightshade groaned as he realized that he had, indeed, been hoodwinked. Nightshade sat down, cross legged.

"I guess you don't spew acidic armor eating slime, either," Nightshade asked dryly, glaring over at the two mechs. Red Alert had tears of mirth dripping down his face. Sam and Mikaela mutely shook their heads.

"Bee, may I borrow your datapad," Nightshade asked sweetly, holding his hands out. Bumblebee shrugged and nodded, saving the data he had been looking over. Nightshade stood up and stalked over to Ratchet, waiting until he was about ten paces away to sling the datapad at his head. Ratchet managed to duck in the nick of time, still laughing. Nightshade found himself pouting as his plans were thwarted, but came up with an equally amusing solution. He stalked up to Ratchet and kicked him as hard as he possibly could in the shin.

Ratchet leapt backwards, yelping in pain and clutching his shin.

"You are a dead mech walking," Nightshade snarled at Ratchet, jabbing a finger in his chest plates. Then he turned and stalked out of the room. Red Alert took a second look at Ratchet's face plates and burst into laughter once more. The two mechs left the room, leaving three very confused beings behind them.

* * *

And yes, this has happened to me, but not like that. I always got pranked at my sites. Buckets of confetti over the door? Yup, been there, done that. Being told that patients had the deadly Ebola virus and that I had to go interview the patient? Yes, of course. Being teased mercilessly for falling for the above two pranks? Endlessly.

But I love my sites even more for it, because I got back at them all. :D


	3. Nervous

Chapter Three: Nervous

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OC's. Ask before you take and you'll most likely get a yes.

* * *

Nightshade was panicking. The steady humming of his cooling fans rose to a dull whine, the only outward indication of Nightshade's impending anxiety attack. Ratchet gave the rookie an amused smirk and dropped the datapad down in front of him. Nightshade clutched at the table. What was he getting himself into? He wasn't ready for this! He had barely skimmed over the last two topics!

"Nightshade, are you functioning properly," Ratchet asked, genuine concern laced in his voice. A quick scan revealed that the rookie's internal temperatures were a bit high, his cooling systems were working overtime, and his spark frequency was off. Ratchet frowned slightly as he went over the spark readings. Nightshade's spark was too low. He would have to look at that later.

Nightshade nodded faintly, picking up the stylus. He was _so _fragged.

"The written portion of your exam begins now. You have one joor to complete the one hundred questions. Remember that the solution itself and its accuracy counts as sixty percent of the total score. The method by which you propose to solve the introduced problem counts as the other forty percent. If you have any questions, now is the time to ask."

Nightshade shook his head, staring at the hefty datapad in front of him. Ratchet let a smirk cross his face plates.

"You may begin."

Ratchet walked around the room occasionally, snatching glances over Nightshade's shoulder as he worked. Ratchet was quite satisfied with what he had managed to read so far. This rookie sounded promising. Just as Ratchet sat down, Nightshade timidly put one hand into the air.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Nightshade?"

"There's one hundred and one questions," the mech stated. On the inside, Nightshade was fritzing. He had carefully timed each of his responses to be exactly 4.8 minutes long! And he only had seven minutes left!

"Answer them all to the best of your ability. I will be discarding of one."

Nightshade nodded and answered the next question quite easily. However, with the final question, Nightshade was completely stumped. The question was:

**The AllSpark has been destroyed, effectively keeping our species from reproducing at a healthy rate. While a pair of bonded mechs can produce viable offspring, the chance of that happening is next to zero. How can this be solved?**

Nightshade stared at the question blankly. How the Pit was _he_supposed to know how sparklings were made? In sheer desperation, Nightshade scribbled down the first thing that came to mind. The timer on Ratchet's desk went off, making Nightshade start badly. Ratchet whisked the datapad away.

"The first of three practical exams begins tomorrow at exactly 8 a.m. It is divided into two sections, each lasting four cycles. You will have a one cycle break in-between. Brush up on your tool manuals," Ratchet said, clapping Nightshade on the back. The mech nodded faintly and got to his feet, walking to the door.

Once Nightshade was out of the way, Ratchet called Red Alert into his office.

"The kid finished the exam," Ratchet said, taking a seat, "Here's your copy."

"Ah. Thank you. Did he finish it all?"

"Yup," Ratchet said, picking up his stylus and reformatting the color. Red Alert made a humming noise and sat down. Two hours of silence passed by quickly, interrupted periodically by a stray comment or question. When Red Alert reached the end of the datapad, he was eager to see what ingenious method of reproduction Nightshade had come up with. It wasn't that they really had to ask that question - they only wanted to gauge the student's creativity. When he flipped to the next page, he read the one line answer and promptly grinned. Ratchet raised one optical ridge in his direction.

"What?"

"Go to the last question," Red Alert said, his sentence interspersed with chuckles. Ratchet obeyed. His optics widened upon reading the statement.

"I think we have a new intern," he said, smirking at Red Alert. Ratchet never thought that Nightshade was a smart-aft, but his answer to the question was nothing short of genius:

_Find me a femme and I'll take care of the rest_.

* * *

There were five tools on the table. They were all the same exact tool, but in different sizes. Sunstreaker lay on one of the tables, watching Nightshade stare at the tools. Ratchet stood in the corner, his hand hovering over his datapad.

One of the halogen lights overhead flickered.

"All you have to do is pick one that fits your hand," Ratchet said gently, trying to bite down his impatience. Nightshade turned a suspicious glare over at Ratchet before glancing back down at the tools. Nightshade raised one hand and reached for the smallest one. Then he saw Ratchet start to write on the datapad in his hand and froze. Nightshade immediately recoiled.

"Are these all the same? No glitches, no loose wiring? No pranks?"

Ratchet groaned quietly. His grip tightened on the stylus in his hand.

"Nightshade, I guarantee that they are all working perfectly. For the love of Primus, just _pick a fragging tool already_."

Nightshade's suspicion only grew. The stylus in Ratchet's hand was now bent at a lovely forty five degree angle. Ratchet glared at Nightshade, who imitated the caustic glare frighteningly well.

"You're not pulling my leg, are you? Because after that stunt with Sam and Mikaela…" Nightshade trailed off, giving Ratchet a third glare. Ratchet counted slowly before responding. He had given Red Alert his promise that he would give the rookie a fair chance.

"Nightshade, I swear it on my honor as a medic. I tested them this morning."

Nightshade nodded and picked up the smallest tool.

"Finally," Ratchet muttered, walking closer to the surgical berth, "Now. Remove the armor on Sunstreaker's upper left shoulder and locate the main motor cable leading to his rotor cuff."

Nightshade stared at Ratchet for a split second before turning around. Ratchet watched as Nightshade pushed the chair over to the berth and clambered onto it.

"One word, either of you," Nightshade growled quietly, stabilizing himself with the back of the chair. Ratchet's optics narrowed again.

"First rule of the medical bay, rookie: You do _not_ give _me_ orders. This is _my_ medical bay. Got it?"

Nightshade only nodded carelessly and leaned over the table, tool in hand. Sunstreaker cringed, scooting away slightly. Did the rookie seriously just brush off the Hatchet's comment? Sunstreaker may have been reckless, but he did have self-preservation programming, and that subtle twitching in Ratchet's left optic did _not_bode well for either of them. Sunstreaker cringed again. Nightshade latched onto his arm and began prying the armor off gently.

"Wait an astrosecond, Red needs my opinion on something," Ratchet said. Before Nightshade or Sunstreaker could speak, the mech had already disappeared through the door. Nightshade then turned to Sunstreaker.

"Ruin this for me and I will make Ratchet look like a turbokitten," Nightshade snarled quietly at the melee warrior, brandishing the sharp end of the device. Now, Sunstreaker was a seasoned warrior, his skills surpassed only by a few select. He could have turned Nightshade into a pile of scrap metal with one hand tied behind his back and with both of his optics offline. However, having a medical tool leveled at his head was a sort of 'Pavlov's Bell' to him – he immediately cowered and ducked, a reflex honed by many years on Ratchet's surgical table. Nightshade backed down as Ratchet entered the room. It wouldn't do for Ratchet to see Nightshade terrorizing a patient.

Ratchet looked over suspiciously. Sunstreaker was lying abnormally still and quiet. Usually, it took several knocks to the head to make him shut his vocalizer off. But now, he was as still as a statue and staring up at the ceiling with a mixture of fear and awe on his face plates. Ratchet shook his cranial unit. He must have been seeing things, because there was no way on this planet that meek and mild little Nightshade could have made Sunstreaker flinch with a pointed glance.

* * *

Oh dear, Nightshade's grown some lugnuts. :)


	4. Naked!

Chapter Four: What? In Protoform?

Disclaimer: (checks) Nope, no moneys. No licenses. No copyrights. So that means I don't own jack shit aside from Nightshade. :)

* * *

To say that Nightshade was nervous was an understatement. Today was his final examination, his final trial to overcome before he could be an intern. His final day also translated to a heft fifty percent of his overall score on his examinations. Nightshade had spent the better part of the two months working on this project. The project itself was not difficult to put together - it was simply a fifteen minute presentation on any medical topic of his choice.

The hard part was presenting it in the command center. In front of thirty one other mechs.

Including Optimus Prime himself.

Nightshade fidgeted as Ratchet finished his weekly report and gathered up his materials. He must have said something particularly interesting because now every single mech in the audience was glancing over at Nightshade, who was cowering in the shadows. Ratchet motioned for Nightshade to come up to the podium.

It felt as though someone had ripped out his fuel tank and replaced it with a block of neutronium. His hands began shaking and Nightshade subtly shook his head. His cranial unit felt as though someone had filled it with those tiny Earth insects. What were they called? Wasps? It was a loud persistent buzzing. His fuel tanks fluttered most disagreeably.

Ratchet rolled his optics.

"It seems our rookie has a bad case of stage fright. I'll go and get him," Ratchet announced, watching as Nightshade steadied himself with a table. Ratchet gently put a hand on Nightshade's shoulder.

"You alright?"

The mech shook his head.

"You'll do fine. Just get up there and pretend they're all in protoform," Ratchet said, in a feeble attempt to cheer him up. Nightshade only looked more ill.

"I'm going to be sick," Nightshade whimpered out, glancing up at the podium. It was a tiny little thing, really, but in Nightshade's panic it had been blown up into monstrous proportions, complete with imagined fangs, flames, and torture devices.

"You'll do fine. I know you can do it," Ratchet said encouragingly, gently guiding Nightshade to the stage. Nightshade swallowed his fear and visibly straightened. Ratchet gave Nightshade one final, gentle push. It took Nightshade a minute to put the equipment together and hook up the wires to the presentation screen.

Then he turned and addressed the crowd.

"Today, my lecture will be system maintenance. We will first begin by reviewing what routine system maintenance is. It can refer to two types of maintenance – digital and physical. Digital refers to our computing centers, subcomputers, and neural interfaces. Physical, which is what this presentation is over, is maintaining order and cleanliness inside our bodies," Nightshade stammered out, fidgeting as he glanced around the room. There was silence. Either he'd bored them all to deactivation or they were interested. Praying it was the latter, Nightshade continued.

"This – " he said, motioning up to a screen, " – is what we look like on the inside. Note the proper sorting and arrangement of the wires and lines…"

* * *

Nightshade blinked when he noticed the blinking red light in his vision. A message? Never wavering in his explanation of his theory, he opened it up. A message from Ratchet? Puzzled, Nightshade continued reading.

**Wrap it up, Nightshade. You've been up there almost a cycle.**

Nightshade started at the realization – had he really been up there for so long? A quick glance at his internal clock and he winced. He had been up there for that long!

"…and that's it, basically. Anyway, I think I went over my fifteen minute bracket a little. Thank you for your time," Nightshade said, gathering up the disks and notes with shaking hands. Ratchet was going to _kill_ him for taking up so much time. Then again, there really wasn't anything he could do about it. The presentation itself had taken exactly fifteen minutes. It was the question-and-answer bit that had taken an extra forty five minutes. Nightshade slumped in the seat between Ratchet and Red Alert, his gaze locked firmly on the floor.

"You did quite well, Nightshade, I'm very impressed," Red Alert said, patting Nightshade on the shoulder. The mech could only manage a weak nod. Red Alert turned an expectant gaze over at Ratchet.

"It was good," was all that he said, and turned his attention back to Perceptor's presentation. Nightshade's eager gaze fell in disappointment before he turned his attention back to the oil stain on the floor. Red Alert smirked. It took a _lot_ more than a presentation to impress the Ole' Hatchet.

* * *

Meanwhile, thoughts were whirling away in Nightshade's computing center. Had he done that badly? Nightshade began scouring his memory banks, trying to find fault with his presentation. So engrossed was he in his frantic search that he did not notice Ratchet and Red Alert rise and make their way up to the stage.

"As everyone knows, we have a rookie in training. After many hours spent learning from the best – me of course – " Red Alert ducked Ratchet's poorly aimed smack – "Nightshade has been put through Pit. Ratchet supervised his practical exam, something that none of use lowly underlings have ever been able to scour from our processors – " This time, Red was unable to dodge Ratchet's swat.

"I would like to call Nightshade up to the stage now," Ratchet said, elbowing his friend out of the way. Red Alert only smirked. Nightshade approached the stage like a condemned mech. Was his failure to be publicly broadcast?

"I would now like to congratulate Nightshade for passing his examination. He is now our rookie/intern. Congratulations, Nightshade," Ratchet said, turning to the tiny mech. Nightshade only stared up at him silently. Ratchet extended one red hand to Nightshade. Nightshade looked up at him, then at his hand, and grinned. He let out an excited whoop and threw his arms around Ratchet's middle.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou-"

Nightshade let go of Ratchet and threw his arms around Red Alert, all while bouncing like an excited sparkling. Amused beyond all belief, Ratchet picked up the certification datapad and held it just out of Nightshade's reach.

"You can have this as long as you promise not to hug the rest of the staff," he said seriously, a small smile on his face. Nightshade nodded vigorously, eagerly reaching for it. Ratchet relented and handed it to him. Nightshade tuned him out, instead focusing on the shimmering certificate in front of him. Nightshade didn't know how he thanked his mentors, or how he described how he had prepared, but somehow he did.

* * *

Now Nightshade was back in the medical bay. He saw everything through a new light now – he was an _intern_. Ratchet made an odd noise, a crunching of gears similar to a snort when he saw Nightshade standing in the middle of the room, an awed look on his face plates. Red Alert carried in a crate and set it down on one of the tables.

Nightshade whirled around at the sudden sound.

"Have you ever had high grade, Nightshade?"

"I've had a sip," Nightshade said, warily eyeing the contents of the crate. Ratchet and Red Alert shared a conspiring smirk.

"Do you want to try some? We always end a meeting with a few good drinks," Ratchet said, grabbing one of the barrels and peeling the top off. Red Alert soon joined him. Nightshade weighed his options – should he risk it? It was true – he'd probably only had half a barrel total in his entire life. Nightshade shook his head.

"Sorry. I…I'm not interested," Nightshade said, shrugging at his mentors. The mech turned and went to one of the energon taps and filled a cube up. After a good two cycles of talking, Nightshade was thoroughly surprised. Ratchet really wasn't _as_ bad as they made him out to be – by Nightshade's opinion, he seemed to be a self-declared party-bot bachelor. Nightshade also learned that once Ratchet had a few high grades in him, he was much more friendly and tended to share stories of his 'conquests' in the academy.

"…so there she was, pretty little thing. I got her and her sister back to my dorms and found out that neither of them was as innocent as I thought," Ratchet said, shaking his head, "Can't remember their names, but _Primus_. I never met a femme that knew how to do _that_ with magnetic pulses!"

Red Alert snickered quietly, nodding.

"Don't you hate it when that happens? You see a sweet, innocent little femme or mech, and they end up being absolute interface demons?"

Ratchet and Red Alert both, by some chance, happened to glance at Nightshade after that statement. Then they shared a horrified glance. No, not little Nightshade! He sensed their stares and looked up meekly. Red Alert had some sort of horrified look on his face, while Ratchet seemed to want some sort of denying statement. Nightshade shook his head.

"I'm not like that."

The mechs let out twin sighs of relief. Red Alert smirked at Ratchet before finishing off his barrel.

"So you're not some sort of pervert. Good. What about _your_ conquests, Nightshade?"

Nightshade gave a sarcastic snort.

"I've been stuck on a ship with nothing but bonded mechs and femmes. What do _you_ think?"

"What about Arcee?"

"That femme is like a communal can of polishing wax," Nightshade muttered darkly, "I'd rather do without than to risk whatever she's got."

Ratchet and Red Alert snickered – yup, that sounded like Arcee.

"Not even before you were assigned to Elita's ship," Red Alert asked sympathetically, smothering the snickers threatening to emerge from his vocalizer. Nightshade shook his head. It couldn't hurt to be honest, right? At least they wouldn't question him after his explanation.

"Please. I'm too short," Nightshade said, throwing out the first excuse he could come up with.

"No…Jazz is shorter than you."

"Yeah, but he can charm space barnacles off of a ship," Nightshade said, effectively ending the conversation. Ratchet and Red Alert shrugged to one another and continued drinking. Nightshade breathed a mental sigh of relief – at least they wouldn't figure out how old he was. Prime would have a fit if he found out that Nightshade was younger than Bumblebee!

* * *

Nightshade's an official intern!

Life is also about to become much more difficult for her. :)


	5. All Work and No Play

...makes Nightshade a dull mech.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but Nightshade and my medical procedures.

Litahatchee was kind enough to point out that I forgot to mention that she lent me the idea of carrying from her story "Night Fire". And...that I also forgot to mention that P.A.W.07 and Okami-Chan lent me their ideas of a femme in hiding and dancers respectively. I am _so _sorry.

* * *

Nightshade rolled over in his berth, snuggling up to the wall. It was only seven in the morning, and Nightshade had no plans to get out of bed before noon that Sunday. There were a few more minutes of blissful, _beautiful_ silence before a familiar chime startled him out of recharge. Someone wanted to talk to him. Nightshade put the transmission on ignore. His away message was set to "If no one is dying, leave me alone".

Ratchet was less than amused. He tried opening a channel once more, but Nightshade ignored him. Ratchet growled quietly – the rookie had been on base for almost four months and _still _hadn't gotten his physical done. Deciding that an early morning walk would be more proactive than making Red Alert retrieve the rookie, Ratchet stood up and made his way to the cadet wing of the base. The mechs on base knew that the subtle frown on Ratchet's face meant that someone was going to be dragged out of their room kicking and screaming, and hung around to see who the unlucky soul was.

Ratchet reached Nightshade's quarters and paused. An evil smirk crossed his face as he scanned the room – Nightshade was deep in recharge. It would be quite amusing to just barge in. With a smirk of morbid glee on his face plates, Ratchet typed in his override code and stepped into the room. He blinked at the utter chaos within. Holocubes and datapads were stacked haphazardly upon almost every available surface in the room. Old and empty energon cubes peeked from underneath the berth. The bookcase was overflowing with trinkets the mech had collected.

Against his better judgment (and indulging his curiosity), Ratchet went and peeked at the objects. There was a single gem in a glass case, obviously worth quite a few credits. A bundle of amber colored silk created by some species in the beta quadrant. An old tattered Earth literature book sat nestled between two large volcanic rocks. The second shelf was laden with holocubes and other miscellaneous objects. The third shelf was the most interesting – there was a full set of dancer's silks and bracelets, along with a dancer's emblem. He wondered why Nightshade would have those – did they belong to an old lover? There was an old holographic photo and he picked it up. Crosswise had one arm around the petite Day Lily. They were both standing off to one side – a beautiful little blue femme stood in the center, her arms raised above her head. He recognized the silks and emblem on the femme. Was that sister Nightshade had spoken so highly of? She looked quite familiar, though he could not put his finger on the reason why.

He turned back to the berth. Nightshade was still snoozing away. Ratchet experimentally prodded Nightshade in the shoulder. The mech groaned and curled up more tightly. Ratchet smirked as he poked the mech again.

"Whadyawant, Mirage?"

A third poke.

"_Mirage._"

Ratchet could barely hold back his snort as he poked Nightshade a fourth time.

"_FRAG OFF,_" Nightshade bellowed, kicking out as hard as he possibly could. His foot met something solid with a loud clang. The yelp of pain that he heard alerted him to the fact that it was _not_ Mirage poking him. Nightshade peeked out from underneath the cushion. Ratchet was towering over the edge of the berth, a thunderous look on his face. Nightshade made a soft 'eep' noise and clamped the cushion down more tightly.

Never, not even in his worst nightmares, had Nightshade ever seen something quite so scary. Ratchet was not a mech Nightshade wanted to wake up to in the morning. Nightshade quivered pitifully when a large red hand yanked the cushion away.

"Nightshade. Med bay. NOW."

"No," Nightshade said, tugging the cushion away from Ratchet. Nightshade then rolled over onto his side, pulling it over his head. Ratchet blinked. No one dared to flat out refuse his requests. A scowl crossed his face plates.

"It wasn't a request, Nightshade."

"Why are you in my room," Nightshade asked, raising the cushion a few inches to peek out from underneath it.

"You've been on base three months and – "

"Three months, two weeks, four days," Nightshade cheekily retorted, but ducked back underneath the cushion when Ratchet growled quietly and raised a hand. Not a good situation to be in. Nightshade wondered where the 'Cons were so they could distract the good ole' Hatchet.

"And you still haven't gotten your physical done. Get your aft up and in the med bay _now_," Ratchet said, pointing at the doorway. Nightshade raised one optic ridge at his mentor…and rolled back over to face the wall. Ratchet let out a tiny growl.

And that was how Nightshade found himself literally being dragged to the medical bay. Ratchet had one hand firmly wrapped around Nightshade's upper arm. Nightshade was protesting, trying to make up excuses as to why he couldn't get a physical done. Ratchet silenced him with one look. He opened the med bay doors and neatly shoved Nightshade into the room.

"Get on the table."

"What are you going to do," Nightshade asked warily, shooting glances between the table and Ratchet.

"You know what a physical examination is. _Get on the table._"

That was when Nightshade officially panicked. A physical examination consisted of making sure relays were working properly, joints were well lubricated, and sparks were within normal parameters. There was one tiny problem – Ratchet thought Nightshade was a mech. And if Ratchet found out, who knew what would happen to the femme-in-hiding?

Ratchet noticed the change in Nightshade immediately – the mech was all but cowering where he stood. He approached slowly, watching as the mech shrank away from him. Ratchet knew that he scared the mechs on base, but they were never _truly_ frightened of him.

"What's the matter with you," Ratchet asked, crossing his arms.

"I've never opened my chest plates before," Nightshade admitted. It was true – he'd never done it before, not even for Moon Racer. Then again, Nightshade found it relatively easy to trick Moon Racer into believing that he'd had his physical done already. Ratchet blinked in surprise. Opening ones chest plates was something quite intimate, usually only done with a trusted lover or during examinations with a qualified medic.

"If it makes you that uncomfortable, I'll settle for a good scan…but you will have to let me do a proper examination some time soon," Ratchet said. The words did little to put Nightshade at ease. If Ratchet used one of his more powerful scanners, Nightshade's insides would be lit up like a Christmas tree and he'd be able to clearly see that Nightshade was indeed a female. But if Nightshade refused, Ratchet be suspicious and do it anyway. Nightshade nodded hesitantly.

Ratchet booted up his scanner and glanced over Nightshade's chest. The read-out was still the same – radiation, frequency, and intensity were all still too low. Ratchet frowned slightly.

"Nightshade…you're not as old as you say, are you?" It was more of a statement than a question. Nightshade only gulped quietly.

"How old are you?"

"Four hundred and fifty vorns?"

Ratchet glared at him.

"Try again."

"Three hundred and fifty?"

Ratchet's glare grew more intense. Nightshade shuffled where he stood before blurting out his age.

"Twohundredandfortyone."

Ratchet almost choked at Nightshade's confession. No wonder he was uncomfortable with opening his chest plates!

"You're not going to tell Prime, are you?"

After a long moment, Ratchet slowly shook his head.

"Physician-patient confidentiality. Besides. You've done nothing wrong. I see no harm in keeping it under wraps until Elita and her platoon arrive. Then _you_ get to tell her that you lied to her."

Nightshade winced at the word 'lie'. He preferred to think of it as stretching the truth a little.

"Now get out of here. I'm scheduling a full physical in two orns, so you'd better get over your shyness."

Ratchet watched as Nightshade ran out of the room. He frowned as he went back over the readings. Even if Nightshade was that young, his spark should have fit within a specific bracket. Not even as a subadult would the readings be that low. He made a mental note to keep an extra close optic on the rookie.

* * *

_The next day…_

"Alright, Nightshade. Are you ready for your first day as an intern," Red Alert asked, standing in the doorway of the surgical bay. Nightshade nodded, twitching slightly in excitement. He honestly couldn't believe it! Nightshade was going to be working alongside his mentors, helping and contributing to their procedures! Who knew what fountains of knowledge his mentors would bestow upon him? Life saving procedures? How to heal? The complexities of the Cybertronian body? Nightshade fairly trembled in excitement.

"There will be many things expected of you as an intern. Are you sure you can handle it," Ratchet asked, raising one optical ridge at Nightshade. He nodded again, slightly impatient.

"Your first assignment will be your most important," Red Alert said seriously, "And based on how well you accomplish it will determine your level of study."

"You ready to start," Ratchet asked. Nightshade nodded so eagerly that Ratchet was tempted to check for cranial damage.

"Good," Ratchet said. He and Red Alert shared a triumphant smirk.

"Your tasks around here consist of cleaning," Ratchet said, handing Nightshade an identification chip, "Cleaning supplies can be found in the storage room right next to the library. You'll need your identification chip to access the cleaning chemicals. Instructions are on the bottles. Surgical rooms must be cleaned manually before being sterilized."

Nightshade nodded dejectedly, idly turning the chip in his hand over.

"Did you think we were going to let you jump in immediately," Ratchet asked, amused. Nightshade was looking quite like a kicked puppy. The mech looked down, almost embarrassed.

"We'll let you watch procedures, don't worry about that. This is a list of what needs to be done," Red Alert said, taking pity upon the mech and handing Nightshade a hefty datapad, "It has daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly tasks. Be sure to use the calendar in the backroom to track what you have and have not done."

"For the first two weeks, you will be working night shifts – 10 p.m. to 10 a.m. Your tasks will be to clean this place up and have it ready for us in the morning. You'll be watching any procedures during the four hour overlap – you'll be watching cosmetic work, _physicals_, and other non-emergency procedures," Ratchet said, glaring and emphasizing the word 'physical', "then, when we're satisfied with your general knowledge of supplies and tools, you'll work days with us. While you're working days, you will be cleaning up the medical bay at the end of shift. Normally, the med bay closes at six, but be ready to be called in at any time. Emergencies can happen at any time."

"Do _not _put any transmissions from Ratchet or me on hold. I heard about the stunt you pulled this morning. Do _not _let it happen again," Red Alert said, scolding Nightshade gently. Nightshade had the decency to look sheepish.

"You'll be working four extra cycles every Saturday. You will be responsible for cataloguing and restocking all of the storage, testing basic supplies, and organization. Don't let us down, Nightshade," Ratchet said. Red Alert nodded and handed Nightshade another datapad.

"Your work schedule for the next two orns, rules, and a list of when to call us and when _not _to call us," he elaborated, "oh. One more thing, Nightshade. Know this med bay like the back of your hand. You never know when we might need your assistance in gathering supplies."

"You follow us so far? Since your shift doesn't start until 10, I suggest you rest and get some energon. If you finish early, you may use my library. No energon or high grade around my holocubes. The rest of the rules are in your datapad. I expect you to follow my instructions to the letter. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Nightshade said. Red Alert clapped his hands together. Time to get down to official business.

"In one year, you will be tested again. Here's a secondary list of required readings, recommended readings, worksheets, labs, and diagrams. You'll be responsible for teaching yourself the theory while we help you apply it. If you pass the second exam, you will become an official assistant and you will become eligible for further training," Red Alert said, handing Nightshade an even larger datapad. Nightshade stared at it. The thing was gigantic. Nightshade needed both hands to hold it up.

"Do _not _slack off, Nightshade. I expect you to eat, recharge, and _bathe_ with that datapad in your hand. Forget about scores - if you do not meet _my_ expectations, you're out of the medical bay and you'll be put on probation with Ironhide," Ratchet growled out quietly, "Waste my time and you _will_ regret it."

Nightshade nodded, gently edging away from Ratchet. Ratchet pretended not to notice. He continued.

"This datapad is linked to my computer terminal. It contains worksheets on the holocubes you are required to study. I will be conducting random examinations on what you complete and I will leave you notes and my opinion on what I think. If it is not up to par, you _will_ know about it. If I don't like it, you will reread the holocube, redo the worksheet, and write a one thousand word essay on why you failed to meet standards," Ratchet said, handing Nightshade yet _another_ datapad, "I will also be scoring you on your performance during any procedure you watch. You will not know when I am scoring your work. You will know the day after. If I don't like it, you fail. You fail, you get to do another essay explaining any faults I find with what you do, correcting your mistakes, and what you plan to do in the future to avoid making the same mistake."

Nightshade's optics were so wide and so full of fear that Red Alert was tempted to soothe the rookie. Ratchet was scary when he got into one of his moods.

"Your life from now on will consist of studying. I don't have to tell you what's going to happen if I catch you wasting time fragging around and _not_ studying. There's also a sample schedule in there, though it doesn't allot nearly enough time to studying basic internal procedures. If you need help with anything, you can contact Red Alert. He will be your mentor and he will guide you through the process. He's been through it before."

Nightshade dared to speak.

"What about you, sir?"

Ratchet turned an acidic glare in Nightshade's direction. Nightshade reflexively took a step back and clutched the teetering pile of datapads to his chest.

"I'm just here to make your life miserable," Ratchet shot at Nightshade. Nightshade just nodded. Red Alert shook his head. Ratchet was the better teacher; otherwise he wouldn't have been commissioned as CMO. In fact, those were part of his duties. He was responsible only for the most complicated cases while the assistants took care of the rest. Ratchet was supposed to teach his assistants how to be leaders like him, not terrify the slag out of them. Red Alert placed one gentle hand on Nightshade's shoulder, shaking his head slightly.

"He's just kidding. He is as much your mentor as I am. Don't be afraid to ask any questions, Nightshade," Red Alert said gently. Nightshade shot Ratchet one suspicious look before nodding. Red Alert mentally rolled his optics – Ratchet just didn't want to deal with Nightshade and he vaguely wondered why.

"Now. Here is a list of things you'll need to have completed before your examination. It's your responsibility to keep track of what basic procedures you've seen and done. I will fill out a score sheet on _every single one_ of these procedures. You will be responsible for copying those into this datapad. This is your portfolio. You are more than welcome to look at mine or Red Alert's, if you want to see how yours should look. I will show you how to fill out a report _once_. After that, you're on your own."

Nightshade nodded, accepting the third massive datapad. Red Alert smirked. Ratchet made the 'assistant' exam sound so difficult! In reality, it was no more difficult than Nightshade's initial examination. There were just more tasks that needed to be done and more paperwork. Ratchet pulled another datapad from his subspace inventory and stacked it on top of Nightshade's already teetering pile.

"This datapad contains our medical laws. I don't care if you don't recharge for the rest of the year – you will know that datapad word _for fragging word_. You will be practicing under _my_ license, which means I am responsible for your actions. I will not have my license revoked by some ignorant little rookie that forgot to read. If you mess up, you will be kicked out of this program and you will never set foot in here again. Do you understand?"

Nightshade nodded, all but shaking where he stood. Red Alert nodded. This time, Ratchet was being completely serious. If Prime even mentioned revoking Ratchet's license, there would be Pit to pay with the medic. Ratchet wouldn't stop until he had Nightshade's cranial unit in a jar somewhere.

"_This_ datapad contains a list of medications. It contains doses, indications, contraindications, and other properties. You will _not_ administer any of these. However, you will be assisting us. You may be called on to retrieve some of these medications. I expect you to know this manual word for word as well. If _any_ of my patients come to any kind of harm because of a mistake on your behalf, I swear to Primus above that Prime will be the least of your worries," Ratchet growled, leveling one finger in Nightshade's face plates. Nightshade audibly gulped. Red Alert nodded once more. Once again, Ratchet was being brutally honest. He took his role as a medic very, very seriously. Ratchet had even translated and inscribed something called the Hippocratic oath onto a plaque and hung it in his office. Ratchet had been immensely impressed with the saying.

"I'm also not impressed with the scores you earned on your practical exam. Reread these holocubes. In fact, I want you to reread these holocubes and prepare for an examination next Friday. I also want a short essay explaining why you failed to meet my standards and why you threatened Sunstreaker. _Yes,_ I know you threatened Sunstreaker. I'm the only one allowed to threaten him," Ratchet said, glaring down at Nightshade. Once again, Nightshade managed to look sheepish and tried to stammer out an explanation. Ratchet raised one hand.

"I don't want to hear excuses. This is the last holocube. This contains exactly one thousand questions that _could_ be on your exam. If you can answer twenty percent of those questions, you're well on your way to passing my exam. Don't get your hopes up. Red Alert had to take his exam twice before he passed," Ratchet said dryly. Nightshade nodded his understanding and shifted the gigantic pile in his arms.

"That's it for now. You'll have more things to take care of when you get settled into a routine. Don't worry about studying tonight – get used to the medical bay and know where supplies are. On Sundays, your aft had better be in that library from sun up to sun down. Got it?"

Nightshade nodded again.

"Get out of here," Ratchet said, waving the mech away.

* * *

"Ratchet, that was just cruel," Red Alert said, lounging in one of Ratchet's seats. Ratchet shrugged, leaning back in his chair.

"I know I'm going to regret saying this in front of you, Red, but that kid has some serious potential. That presentation blew me away. In all honesty, I thought he was going to fail badly. He managed to complete an entire fifteen minute presentation on _maintenance_, of all things, _and_ answer questions for a straight forty five minutes," Ratchet said, propping his feet up on his desk, "He didn't do too well on the practical examination, but he can be trained to do better. You can't train someone into that type of dedication." Red Alert looked smug at Ratchet's declaration.

"Ratchet, I'm going to enjoy saying this. I'm going to savor every _astrosecond_... I _told_ you so!" Red Alert exclaimed.

"Ha ha, very funny, Red," Ratchet sneered, shaking his cranial unit.

"Are you going to tell Nightshade that you were kidding about the studying and 'essays'?"

"No."

"Why not? The kid considers your word _law_, Ratchet, he's probably upstairs reading instead of recharging," Red Alert said, shrugging, "He's a fragging over-achiever, that's what he is."

"No, Red Alert, you're just upset because he beat your presentation scores," Ratchet said smugly, making a face at his long time face. Red Alert countered the look with a vulgar gesture.

"Ratchet, I'm being very, very serious. Nightshade will be in here in the next two orns for exhaustion if you don't cut him some slack," Red Alert said.

"I don't cut _anyone_ slack, Red Alert. If I have to push Nightshade to his physical and mental limits to get a good assistant, then I will. You were no different," Ratchet said, effectively ending the conversation. Red Alert shrugged, not wanting to let go of the topic.

"Whatever, Ratchet, but if Nightshade gets hurt from over exhaustion or something like that, then all blame rests entirely on you," Red Alert commented quietly. Ratchet nodded and leaned back in his chair.

"Alright, fine. But I expect Nightshade to replace you one day. You can't juggle being an assistant _and_ working as chief of security once more Autobots arrive," Ratchet reminded Red Alert quietly. Red Alert nodded, sighing.

"Yes, I know…"

"And we don't know if there will be other medical personnel. For all we know, the last attack…"

"I know, Ratchet. I know how many medics and students died that day," Red Alert said sharply, shaking his cranial unit, "You know what? I think I'll take my break now. I'll see you in an hour."

"I'll see you later, then," Ratchet said softly, watching as Red Alert stiffly marched from the room.

* * *

:)

:insert fond smile: Ah, yes. My EMT instructor was an ex-Marine. He was _scary._


	6. Study, Study, Study

* * *

Disclaimer: I only own my OC's and medical procedures. LittleMewLugia let me use the term 'subadult' to refer to the equivalent of teenager in my other story "When in Doubt". I used the term briefly here as well. :) You should totally go and check out LittleMewLugia's work - she's always got awesome work.

* * *

Ratchet could not recharge.

There was absolutely no light in his room, the temperature was set _just _right, and his cushions were soft and comfortable, but none of these comfortable measures could tease his computing center into shutting down. He had popped open a vintage barrel of high grade and thoroughly enjoyed every sip of the sweet, potent drink. He'd also indulged in an entire tray of energon candies and truffles. Ratchet idly made a note to boot up all of his spare systems to help with the energy rush in the morning. A long soak in his oil tub had finished his rather extravagant night.

None of that, however, could set his spark at ease.

Nightshade was running his medical bay.

A _rookie_ was running _his_ medical bay.

Ratchet turned over, kicking one of the cushions to the floor. It landed on the floor with a muffled thump. He stared at the wall, which was slightly illuminated by the glow of his optics.

Recharge was elusive that night.

* * *

Meanwhile, the medical bay was absolutely silent. Nightshade had finished all of his cleaning tasks within the first three hours. Now the only light in the room poured from the library. The mech was seated at one of the tables, surrounded by holocubes, diagrams, and a few of Ratchet's old journals. Two of the innumerable worksheets had been completed and saved on an old flash drive. Another datapad was littered with Nightshade's untidy scrawls, questions that Nightshade had to ask Ratchet or Red Alert. Nightshade picked up one of Ratchet's journals and began reading. Even though Red Alert was a more than competent source to draw from, some of his journals skimped on information.

Not Ratchet's. Not by a long shot.

The mech had laboriously recreated each and every single one of his procedures, turning his videofeed into a written account. Nightshade was shocked at the attention to detail he had paid. Now Nightshade was using one of Ratchet's journals to help him understand basic components of the procedures. Nightshade frowned.

He (more specifically, _she_) was going to make Ratchet eat his words. Nightshade had done well on his practical exams. Red Alert had even pulled him aside to let him know that he'd met standards. Red Alert had also kindly explained to Nightshade that he would soon be leaving the medical bay and Nightshade would be expected to take over what he left behind. Thus, Ratchet's expectations rocketed from impossibly high to just plain impossible to achieve.

Nightshade wiped his optics wearily, resting heavily on his elbows. Now was not the time to feel sorry for himself. Ratchet may not have had any kind of hope for him, but Prime had expressed his surprise at how well Nightshade was doing. Prime had even put 'official aide' on Nightshade's job transcript, even though Nightshade hadn't even become an official assistant.

Recharge was not necessary at the moment, nor was refueling. Making Prime proud was more important. Besides, it would all pay off in the end – he (more specifically _she_) would have a real job and not have to rely on dancing to pay for her apartment and energon rations. She wouldn't have to depend on anyone. It would be a grand adventure to provide for herself.

* * *

In the end, Ratchet was unable to recharge as long as he would have liked. With thirty minutes until his shift started, he had recharged less than two hours. Good thing he had consumed so many of those sinfully delicious truffles – the highly concentrated energy would last him for the day, but would wreak havoc with his exhaust systems. He snickered quietly – poor anyone who crossed his path when his engine backfired!

He stared at the temperature knob of the shower for a second before turning it on. The freezing cold water jolted his masochistic computing center. _Now _he was awake.

The walk to the medical bay was slow; easily the longest walk of his life. Ratchet paused just outside of the doors, his hand hovering over the number pad. Red Alert rounded the corner with two steaming mugs of energon in his hands. He silently handed one to Ratchet. They stood in companionable silence, staring at the door, until Red Alert piped up.

"What are we waiting for?" he asked.

"I'm not sure if I want to see what Nightshade's done to my medical bay," Ratchet said faintly, imagining what chaos lay behind the door. Red Alert rolled his optics.

"Give the kid a break. He's probably sound asleep in one of the spare cots," Red Alert said, motioning Ratchet away from the pad.

"You're not helping here," Ratchet said dryly, "If he's sound asleep, he's broken rule twelve, fifty three, and eighty eight, which says nothing of his ability to – "

"_Relax_. Rookies always mess up. Better today than during surgery, right?"

"You _really_ aren't helping," Ratchet shot at him, his hand freezing on the number pad. He fished his identification chip from subspace and inserted the device into a port.

The medical bay was in its usual pristine condition. He peered inside. Nothing was out of place. The windows in the waiting room had been opened, allowing the weak light filter into the room. The sky was still pale blue and pink, decorated with stringy clouds. The smoky air hinted at the winter ahead. Ratchet's tension slowly ebbed. He peered into the surgical rooms and was pleasantly surprised – the rooms were sealed off with tape and marked as sterile. Nightshade had even signed the tape.

_Good rookie_, he thought.

Red Alert smirked with glee.

"I told you Nightshade wouldn't burn the place down," Red Alert said, clapping Ratchet on the shoulder, "Now all we have to do is find our little intern and we'll go from there."

They wandered around to the back of the medical bay and into one of the smaller staff rooms. During calm times, the medical bay served almost like a physician's office. They had set hours and someone was always on call. During war time, however, the medical bay was fully staffed at all times. Ratchet and his aide were on constant call and did not leave the medical bay. Hence, the two spare cots and small shower unit. Neither one was occupied.

Red Alert and Ratchet went to the library and peered inside. Nightshade was seated before a desk, surrounded by stacks of reference materials. He had his feet propped up on the edge of the desk, all while taking notes on a datapad and checking some sort of list off.

"You've been busy," Ratchet commented idly, putting his hand across the back of Nightshade's chair. The mech leapt and whirled around, raising the datapad. Upon seeing it was Ratchet and Red Alert, Nightshade put the device back down. He smiled sheepishly up at Ratchet.

"Hey, boss?" Nightshade asked, his voice squeaking slightly in nervousness. Nightshade had learned early on that Ratchet did not like things brandished at him. Red Alert's jaw dropped when Ratchet smiled back. Ratchet _smiled_. Not a smirk, not a leer, not a frown. An actual smile.

"Working hard, I see," Ratchet commented idly.

"Hey, Red. I didn't see you back there. Is it six already? Let me get this stuff put away," Nightshade said cheerily, gesturing towards the mess on the desk. While Nightshade was busily putting the holocubes away, Red Alert picked up what Nightshade had diligently been taking notes on. Red Alert smirked at Ratchet.

"_I told you so,_" Red Alert said in a sing-song voice, handing Ratchet the pad. Ratchet rolled his optics at Red's antics.

It was going to be a very long day.

* * *

Nightshade tidied up after himself rather quickly and came into the main surgical bay. Ratchet and Red Alert were both leaning against the counters, nursing their respective cubes of energon. Nightshade stopped, looking between them.

"So what now?" Nightshade asked, leaning back on the counter. Red Alert checked his schedule and smirked.

"Ratchet has an appointment at seven thirty," Red Alert said smugly. Ratchet choked. He had really hoped that Red Alert wouldn't notice that he was behind on quite a bit of maintenance. It had been almost a hundred vorns since his last physical. And he really didn't want one – Red Alert had cold hands. Ratchet shuddered quietly. Red Alert's ice cold hands in places that were normally nice and warm?

If he wasn't awake now, he'd definitely be awake afterwards.

"What are you talking about?" Ratchet asked, trying to look innocent of all charges. Tried being the key word – Ratchet simply could not pull off innocent. It was a last attempt to stall the physical. Nightshade was torn between smirking and an apologetic look, but in the end, the smirk won the battle. Nightshade had a grin on his face like a Cheshire cat as he gathered the necessary supplies. Ratchet glared at Nightshade.

Traitor.

"I went through your files last week, Ratchet. You haven't had a full physical in vorns. I want Nightshade to watch so he knows that it doesn't hurt," Red Alert said, glancing over at Nightshade. Nightshade shrugged and followed the mechs into one of the patient rooms. Ratchet made himself comfortable on the table. Red Alert motioned Nightshade into the room.

"Since he's been putting his maintenance off for so long, we'll have to give him a _complete_ physical," Red Alert groused, glaring over at Ratchet. Ratchet ignored his glare and motioned Nightshade over.

"Do you have what you'll be taking notes on?" Nightshade nodded, holding up the digipad. Ratchet nodded.

"Basically, you're reporting what you see, what you did, and what Red Alert is doing. All you're doing is recreating the procedure. You _could_ record the procedure, but cameras in medical areas are strictly forbidden. Something about privacy issues," Ratchet groused, shifting uncomfortably as Red Alert began his work, "I want your report when I come in tomorrow morning."

Nightshade nodded and began writing diligently.

"Your joints are in perfect condition," Red Alert said absently, checking a box on his report off. Nightshade peeked over Red Alert's shoulder. Ratchet's joints were well lubricated and free of debris. Nightshade jotted the thought down, remembering that Ratchet had done something similar in one of his own journals.

"Are you finished yet? I've got datapads stacked this high on my desk," Ratchet grumbled, holding his hands shoulder width apart. Red Alert rolled his optics and ignored Ratchet's question.

"I'm going to open up his chest plates, Nightshade. Don't stand too close."

Nightshade took a step back, shooting Red Alert a questioning glance. Ratchet lifted his head. He and Nightshade shared a curious look.

"The black hole known as his spark could suck you right in," Red Alert said dryly with a mischievous glance up at Ratchet.

"Fragging _hilarious_, Red Alert," Ratchet grumbled, shooting Red a vulgar gesture.

"Alright, alright. Back to work. No more joking around. We've got to hammer this rookie into a competent aide," Ratchet said, jerking a thumb toward Nightshade, who'd been hanging well out of hitting range. Red Alert nodded and motioned Nightshade to his side.

"Nightshade, what am I pointing to?"

"Gosh, Red Alert. The box with the shiny blue thing in it?" Nightshade asked sarcastically, "I'm going out on a limb here. A functioning spark box, perhaps?"

Nightshade regretted his sarcasm the moment he finished speaking. Ratchet and Red Alert both stared at him for a few moments. Ratchet began chuckling quietly when Red Alert managed to look insulted.

"No need for sarcasm, Nightshade, I just wanted to make sure you knew," he said, and Nightshade felt guilty. He muttered a quiet apology. Nightshade honestly didn't know what had come over him.

"Now, what can you tell me about Ratchet's spark?" Red Alert asked gently. Nightshade peered into Ratchet's chest cavity. After a few seconds of thinking, Nightshade brightened. Ratchet looked at him expectantly.

"The color and brightness indicate that Ratchet is indeed a male of breeding age. The bright, almost white color of his spark also shows that he hasn't ever bonded. The intensity also confirms these two facts and is a general indicator of general health – which is surprisingly good seeing as he hasn't had maintenance in a very long time. _Yes, _Ratchet, I saw your file. The polarity is positive, shown by the gold aura surrounding the exposed spark. If I had a spark meter, I could tell you the frequency," Nightshade said quietly, leaning over Ratchet's chest and squinting at his spark. Red Alert nodded.

"Good, I see that you've been doing your extra reading and then some," Red Alert said, tinkering around with the tangled wires in Ratchet's chest.

"Alright, smart-aft. What color would my spark be if I was bonded?" Ratchet shot at Nightshade.

"It would be a darker shade of blue and a little less intense," Nightshade responded, not even looking up at him. Instead Nightshade pointed at one of Ratchet's fuses.

"That one's blown, Red. Do you want me to get you another?" Nightshade asked Red Alert sweetly.

"Yes, please. Second cabinet, third shelf. It'll be in the green box," Red Alert said, smirking up at Ratchet. Ratchet, in all honesty, was surprised that Nightshade had been able to answer his question correctly.

"And what the frag do you mean that I am 'indeed' a male?" Ratchet asked, his optics narrowed. From his crouched position on the floor, Nightshade spoke.

"About a hundred vorns ago, my sister sneaked out of our housing unit to meet a subadult mech she liked very much. Sometimes, when Sunstreaker or Sideswipe come into the medical bay, your 'post-op reminders' sound like the hissy fit she threw when she was caught and assigned an escort," Nightshade said wryly, searching for the correct size and color fuse, "Is it this one, Red Alert? I couldn't see an identification number on Ratchet's fuse."

"Do you really want an exhaust flush, Nightshade?" Ratchet asked coldly. Nightshade shot him the most innocent look he could muster up.

"I can't process anything but energon. If you'd like, though, you could change my filters," Nightshade said sweetly. Then he turned back to the box on the floor and pulled out a second handful of fuses.

Red Alert only laughed.

* * *

_One joor later…_

Ratchet looked over Nightshade's file, frowning in confusion. Nightshade's comment about his filters had alerted him to the fact that there was something wrong. Ratchet pulled out a booklet with designs and flipped to the back. No mech's design would lack an exhaust system. Nightshade was a full four feet taller than Jazz. Jazz was the smallest mech on base. Why was Jazz able to process Earth fuels and Nightshade couldn't? It wasn't due to their size or purpose. Their roles during the war had been similar – both had had experience in the spying and shooting business, so their previous job specifications couldn't have been a factor.

Ratchet continued scrolling past Nightshade's various upgrades and frame alterations. One empty blank caught Ratchet's attention. Nightshade had not filled out anything about his alt. mode. Ratchet frowned as he wracked his memory banks. Nightshade had never transformed in front of him. In fact, he couldn't recall any mention of the mech's alternate mode. He would have to question the rookie about that.

He pulled up Nightshade's designs once more and pored over the specifications. He sat back when he realized that the numbers did not add up. Nightshade's mass was one hundred kilograms underneath the weight limit for full sized vehicles. If Nightshade did have an alternate mode, it would have to be very light. Ratchet frowned. That still wouldn't explain why Nightshade could not process alternate fuel sources…unless Nightshade didn't _have_a standard mech frame.

It all began to add up in Ratchet's computing center. The discomfort that Nightshade displayed when his physicals came up. Refusing to open his chest plates. The same look of innocence that Bumblebee always had. Ratchet sighed and wondered how he could talk to Nightshade without scaring the slag out of him.

"Red Alert? We need to talk."

* * *

Nightshade slumped over at his computer terminal, glaring at the screen. Red Alert and Ratchet had thoughtfully built a computer terminal for Nightshade to study from once Ratchet had gotten sick and tired of tripping over Nightshade while trying to get a holocube. Ratchet had copied all of the required readings onto his computer and saved them in a file that Nightshade could access at his own leisure.

Now Nightshade didn't have an excuse to slack off.

Frag.

Something flickered in the corner of his vision. Confused, Nightshade acknowledged the scattered transmission. It was a very highly encoded Autobot signal. Nightshade frowned as he opened the link – how did they know how to encode their frequencies to bounce past the human satellites? A very familiar voice rang out.

"This is Elita One, requesting permission to access an Autobot channel," Elita One said, her monotonous voice sounding very bored. Nightshade squealed like the femme he was and bolted out of his seat.

"Elita! Oh my dear Primus, you have no idea how happy it makes me to hear your voice again! I can't believe you're finally here – "

"Nightshade, is that you?"

" – Optimus is going to be so happy, he won't stop talking about seeing you once more, and you're finally here – "

"Nightshade, I'm glad to know you are safe, but I really need you to connect me to the command center – "

" – Of course! I'm on my way…well, actually, I'm sprinting, I'll be there in a minute or two, but how have you been? Is everyone safe and well? How far are you? When – "

Elita chuckled quietly.

"Nightshade, I'll answer all of your questions as soon as I can access a video screen," Elita said kindly. Almost as though if Elita knew Nightshade's embarrassment and dejection, Elita spoke once more.

"It's not that I'm not happy to speak with you, Nightshade, it's just that our ship was damaged in a skirmish and we need specifications so that we may alter our propulsion system. We can't land on the planet unless we know gravitational forces, surface specifications, and so forth," Elita said gently.

"Alright," Nightshade said softly, pushing the doors to the command center open. All optics were on him the moment he entered. Nightshade suddenly felt very, very small. Optimus curiously looked over at Nightshade.

"Nightshade? You know you're not supposed to be in here," Red Alert said, looking up from his monitor, "You need proper clearance with me and Prowl."

"But, I have to talk to Optimus," Nightshade protested weakly.

"What could be so important that you feel the need to break several rules and protocols?"

"I have Elita One on one of my lines!" Nightshade snapped, growing tired of Red Alert's suspicious glare. The moment the words left his vocal processors, the room went silent. Optimus was by his side in three steps.

"Grant her access to our video screens now," Optimus barked. With one hand, he guided Nightshade to one of the computer terminals, "Uplink into the systems and transfer Elita's signal code into the computer. Red Alert will guide you through the process."

Nightshade sat in the seat, feeling very small once more. Two large cables and three minutes later, Nightshade was gazing up at Elita's familiar face on the screen. Nightshade felt his spark melt when Optimus raised his hand, using his fingers to delicately trace Elita's facial features. Elita pressed her hand against the screen as well. Nightshade was tactful enough to shoo everyone away to give their commanders a moment of privacy. Nightshade smiled at Optimus fondly, watching as the weariness melted from his frame. Having Elita by his side once more was going to do wonders for him and base morale. The arrival of femmes also meant that Nightshade would be free to reveal _her _secret.

Chromia ruined the reunion not a minute later. Her head popped into view.

"Hey, boss-bot!"

Elita groaned and buried her face into her hands. Then she pushed Chromia out of the way and apologized profusely. Though she looked annoyed, Elita's optics glowed with a happiness Nightshade hadn't ever seen before. Nightshade's spark was warm and full, overflowing with joy for his commanders. A grin spread across his face plates as Elita put their time of arrival in about twelve weeks.

Nightshade could hardly wait!

* * *

Oh no, is Ratchet catching on to our lady in hiding? Or is his computing center just playing with him?

And who did Nightshade sneak out to meet?


	7. Trust?

* * *

Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my OC's and medical procedures.

* * *

Ratchet peered down the darkened hallway, dimming his optics and quieting his systems. His footsteps were light and quiet, almost silent. Ratchet knew Nightshade was hiding something. Maybe a few moments of quiet observation would help shine light on Nightshade's actions? Ratchet almost felt guilty for spying on the rookie, but Nightshade had lied to him. Ratchet did not tolerate liars in his medical bay, especially if he had made every effort possible to secure the rookie a job.

_Ungrateful little son of a glitch_, Ratchet thought rudely, glancing down both sides of an adjacent corridor before continuing his journey forwards. A few moments later found him just outside of the doorway, pressed up against the wall. He listened as hard as he could. Should he take a peek or should he just use his scanner? He'd have to peek – Nightshade would probably be able to feel the scan now that he knew what the strange sensation was. Ratchet could hear soft noises from inside of the room and he furrowed his optic ridges curiously, peering into the room.

Nightshade was standing in the middle of the room, his hands in the air. Ratchet's optical ridges furrowed when Nightshade began swaying from side to side, his feet moving deftly beneath him. What was he doing?

After watching a few moments of the strangely sensuous sway of the mech's body, it hit Ratchet. Nightshade was _dancing_. Ratchet turned around and absently rubbed his tingling chest plates. What was going on?

He and Red Alert definitely needed to talk.

* * *

_One joor later, while on break…_

"Alright, Ratchet. What's going on?" Red Alert asked, dropping into one of the seats in front of Ratchet's desk.

"Have you noticed anything…_strange_ about Nightshade?"

Red Alert thought on Ratchet's statement for a moment or two before nodding.

"Actually, yes. Do you mean specific things?" Red Alert asked, leaning forward onto Ratchet's desk. Ratchet debated telling Red Alert about his late night espionage.

"I came in here last night and found him dancing. Like a real femme would," Ratchet stated, shrugging his shoulders at the incredulous look he received.

"You were _spying_ on Nightshade?"

"Red Alert, I have every right to know why Nightshade is lying to me. And he's in _my_ medical bay," Ratchet said, avoiding Red Alert's glare.

"Well, his sister was a dancer, Ratchet. He was fairly young when his sister and femme-creator were sent off of Cybertron, remember? He probably doesn't realize that he's mirroring what he saw," Red Alert said, shrugging.

"True, true. But it makes me wonder just how young Nightshade is," Ratchet said, leaning back in his chair. A confused look had him elaborating.

"Here…look at Nightshade's design specifications," Ratchet said, handing Red Alert a datapad. Red Alert took it and looked it over, humming quietly. He frowned.

"You're right. This is very strange. Do you want me to ask him about it?"

"No, no. Not quite yet. I want to observe him before I say anything," Ratchet said, shaking his head. Red Alert nodded, setting the datapad down.

"Alright. Primus, I knew Nightshade was young, but…how would Nightshade get his hands on the materials for that? And how the Pit would he be able to design a whole new set of specifications _and _get them past Moon Racer?" Red Alert asked. He leaned into his hands, squinted his optics and putting his computing center to good use. "Do we know how old he is, exactly?"

"I think Nightshade knows more about medical procedures than he lets on – remember his question and answer session? We didn't cover half of those things with him. And remember what he said about my spark? Nightshade doesn't have access to the back of my library. All he can access are the basics and general encyclopedias…and no, I don't think we know an exact age," Ratchet said slowly and thoughtfully. Red Alert only nodded, picking up one of Ratchet's various knickknacks. Ratchet continued speaking.

"And I've known Moon Racer for years. I personally trained her. She should have noticed something strange about Nightshade's behavior."

"Did Moon Racer ever get a physical on Nightshade?" Red Alert asked. Ratchet went through Nightshade's transfer files. He shook his head.

"No, Moon Racer hasn't so much as pried his chest plates open," Ratchet said, his optical ridges furrowing even further.

"What is he hiding?" Red Alert pondered out loud.

"Definitely his age, for one. There's no way in Pit that he's two hundred and forty one vorns of age...the spark readings are far too low for that of an adult male. Wait, I'm looking through Elita's log. Nightshade was picked up just after the assault on Crystal City."

"Crystal City? What region?" Red Alert asked, suddenly sitting up. Crystal City was the art central of Cybertron – various artists used the city as a hub to trade and distribute their work. Sunstreaker had worked in the city as a 'starving' artist.

"Upper west side. The _really_ nice side of the city."

"That explains why he's entirely custom built," Red Alert said thoughtfully, picking Nightshade's specifications up.

"Sunstreaker used to know everyone there. Let's call him down and see what he can tell us about Nightshade's family," Ratchet said, "My mentor was their personal physician, and he would have mentioned the delivery of a second sparkling."

"What do you mean?"

"I could have sworn that they only had one creation…a femme."

* * *

Sunstreaker was wary the moment he was called into Ratchet's office. He sidled into the room, expecting a tirade, or a wrench to the head at the very least. He was pleasantly surprised when Red Alert motioned to one of the seats.

"Please sit down, Sunstreaker," Ratchet said, waiting until Sunstreaker had obeyed before speaking again, "Now. I want your word that what we discuss in this room stays in this room."

Sunstreaker nodded, confused and curious.

"What is it that you need?" he asked, fidgeting slightly.

"You lived in Crystal City for a few hundred vorns, right?" Red Alert asked. Sunstreaker nodded.

"Yes, my brother and I were raised to our youngling stages in Priahex, then we were transferred from our caretakers to one of the academies. Why?"

"Did you ever do work for Day Lily and Crosswise?" Ratchet asked. Susntreaker nodded once more.

"Yes. Is this about Nightshade?" Sunstreaker asked. Ratchet nodded, pushing the Nightshade's designs toward Sunstreaker.

"Do you remember anything about their family?" Ratchet asked, watching as Sunstreaker pored over the design specifications.

"These designs and Nightshade's size and mass are not compatible. Are you sure these are his? And his mass is still too high to be a subadult's frame, if that's what you want to know. I don't know what else to tell you, Ratchet. But I can tell you this – I can't remember Crosswise and Day Lily ever having a second sparkling. I only know of their first – a little femme," Sunstreaker said, handing the digipad to Ratchet. Red Alert nodded, his optical ridges furrowing. This was very strange. Why would a healthy couple hide the delivery of a second sparkling? A second child would be worth celebrating.

"And…if anything…Nightshade's frame and mass suggest a more…light purpose. Perhaps Nightshade wasn't built with a purpose," Sunstreaker suggested, glancing up at the two now silent mechs. After a few long moments, Ratchet spoke.

"Thank you, Sunstreaker. We'll have a chat with Nightshade later on."

"Alright, see you later, doc-bot," Sunstreaker said, waving at him cheerily and leaving the office before Ratchet could retaliate against the ridiculous nickname. Red Alert looked once more to Ratchet before getting to his feet.

"Wait a second, Red Alert. I need you to take a look at something," Ratchet said, standing up.

"What is it?"

"My chest feels strange," Ratchet said quietly, rubbing at his burning chest plates. Red Alert raised one optical ridge. Things were getting very strange around here.

"Let me get a scanner," was all that Red Alert would say. He disappeared for a few moments before returning to the office. Red Alert scanned Ratchet's chest, watching him from the corner of his optic. Ratchet's facial plates looked cool and unreadable at first glance, but Red Alert had known Ratchet for many years. Ratchet was confused. That was something that rarely happened – he had been one of the most promising students at the Academy. There was nothing that Ratchet could not figure out.

Red Alert glanced over the scanner. There was nothing out of the ordinary, except for mildly elevated radiation. Red Alert shook his head.

"The radiation of your spark is elevated by .00023 percent. It's not a very significant increase, though, considering your levels of stress," Red Alert offered, setting the scanner down. Ratchet nodded.

"I…have a theory. Let me check something," Ratchet all but mumbled, standing and walking briskly out of the room. Red Alert stared after him for a moment before following.

"Wait an astrosecond, Ratchet!"

* * *

Nightshade was unaware of the situation in the medical bay. He was too busy enjoying his day off with Mirage. They were both sitting outside, enjoying the crisp autumn air and bright sunshine. Nightshade was stretched out across the ground, purring happily as the sunlight warmed his armor. Mirage was leaning up against a large rock, watching over Nightshade. He smirked.

"What are you thinking about, Mirage?" Nightshade asked, propping his head up on his hands.

"The first time we met," Mirage said, grinning at Nightshade. Nightshade groaned, burying his face into his hands.

"That was embarrassing," he muttered quietly.

"I think it was cute that you snuck out to meet to meet my brother," Mirage said, his grin growing wider. Nightshade rolled over onto his side.

"We were both subadults, Mirage, we were both stupid," Nightshade muttered.

"Yes, I agree with the 'stupid' portion, Nightshade, but did you honestly think you could sneak out of your room knowing that your room was just above your living room?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. How was I supposed to know my mother was still downstairs?" Nightshade groused, smiling fondly at the memory. The subadult mech she had snuck out to meet was one of her closest friends. They had both attended the same classes for a very long time. It wasn't until Nightshade had gotten caught that she found out that he was Mirage's younger sibling.

"Ahh, I remember the first call I got from Day Lily…"

"Mirage!"

"She is to be kept under lock and key!" Mirage said, imitating Day Lily's high pitched voice and stance. Nightshade laughed when he wiggled his finger at her, scowling at her.

"Mirage, stop talking about my creator like that! That's horrible!"

"This is the last straw! Mirage, you are to guard her," Mirage said, planting his fists on his hip joints, "She is to be in your sight at all times!"

"Oh, be quiet – hey, Ratchet!" Nightshade exclaimed, looking up at the red and white mech. The mech looked strangely out of place in the organic environment.

"Mirage," Ratchet said, bowing his head slightly in his direction before turning to Nightshade, "I needed to speak with you about your physical, Nightshade."

Mirage and Nightshade both froze. Ratchet sensed the sudden tension in the air but remained cool and calm. He stepped over to a nearby boulder and took a seat, watching as Nightshade scrambled up to a sitting position.

"I've been looking over your files and I've noticed a few things."

"Like what?" Nightshade asked cautiously, his optics darting over to Mirage.

"I know you're lying to me about something, Nightshade," Ratchet said flatly, "And I'd like to know what about."

Nightshade goggled at him. Mirage watched on, ready to spring in to defend his charge. Ratchet glanced over at Mirage. His posture was tense and his hand was resting threateningly over a weapon subspace pocket in his leg. Ratchet's optics narrowed further. So Mirage knew what Nightshade was hiding. This was a very interesting development.

"What makes you say that, Ratchet?" Nightshade asked pleasantly, though on the inside, his spark went ice cold. Nightshade subconsciously rubbed the bottom of his chest plates, panic rising in his systems. Nightshade and Mirage had gone over an emergency evacuation plan in case someone found out that Nightshade was a she – Mirage would temporarily neutralize the other mech while Nightshade commandeered one of the secondary shuttles. If they were lucky enough, they would be able to hide in the orbit of the moon until Elita or Chromia arrived. Their rank would be able to protect Nightshade against any unwanted advances. Nightshade gave Ratchet a strange look and shook his head, pretending not to understand.

"Your spark readings are too low. _How old are you_?" Ratchet snapped, planting his fists on his hip compartments, "You lied about your age before. I don't know why I believed you when you said you were two hundred and forty one vorns old."

"I…I guess I should tell you. I'm…just into my subadult stages. That's why I can't transform," Nightshade admitted quietly, rubbing his cranial unit. He was definitely winging it at the moment. He had no idea what Ratchet was here for. Nightshade obviously couldn't insist that 'he' was two hundred an forty one vorns of age. Ratchet would scan him and figure out that he was a she. Would Ratchet fall for the lie? Nightshade waited breathlessly for a few moments until Ratchet nodded. Mirage relaxed.

"You won't be able to do hands on work during procedures if that's the case, Nightshade," Ratchet said softly, shaking his head slightly. Nightshade froze at his words – that was not good. Hands on work accounted for nearly thirty percent for his final grade to become an official intern.

"And how are you involved, Mirage? Are you his guard?" Ratchet asked, looking over at the mech. Mirage nodded.

"Day Lily put me in charge of his safety when Crystal City was raided," Mirage said. He wasn't lying – it was the truth. Mirage had only been assigned as an escort until Nightshade had learned her lesson. The raid on the city had made things much more dangerous for unbound femmes, so Day Lily had ingeniously created armor for her only daughter to disguise her as a male. Mirage had been assigned as 'his' guard until Nightshade was safely with her family once more.

Satisfied, Ratchet nodded and stood up, brushing imaginary dust off of his frame. He glanced over at Nightshade and Mirage. They were both obviously still uneasy. Ratchet made a mental note to speak with Prime.

"That's all I wanted to know, Nightshade. Thank you. I will discuss this with Red Alert and I'll see what I can do to replace the hands-on grades you will need to finish your training," Ratchet said. Nightshade smiled radiantly up at him. Would Ratchet really do that for him?

"I don't mind making accommodations for you, Nightshade. I just want to know why you lied to me. Repeatedly. "

"I-I'm sorry, Ratchet. I…didn't want to be treated like a youngling after all that I've been through. I just wanted to be treated like a normal mech," Nightshade whispered quietly, praying that Ratchet would believe him. Ratchet nodded.

"I understand, Nightshade. I will see you in the medical bay on Monday," Ratchet said, turning to leave. Nightshade and Mirage shared a relieved glance. Just before disappearing over the ridge, Ratchet glanced back at them.

"However, Nightshade…if I find that you've lied to me again, your aft is out of the medical bay and I will put you in the brig for lying to a superior officer on numerous occasions. I've given you plenty of opportunities to confide in me, but if I find out that you've breached my trust once more…I will download your information whether you like it or not," Ratchet said, his voice low and ominous, "If there's anything that you'd like to say, say it now." Nightshade felt his insides freeze, but he managed to speak evenly.

"No, that's it, Ratchet."

"Very well."

* * *

Ratchet watched the pair from inside the medical bay, his optics narrowed and fists clenched.

Ratchet may have not been the best detective in the world, but he knew when he was being lied to. Things were starting to escalate. Ratchet honestly didn't want to forcibly download information from the mech, but if it got to the point where he couldn't be trusted, Ratchet would put aside his personal beliefs for a few hours.

* * *

Ratchet's not a happy mech, is he? Hope y'all enjoyed. :)


	8. Poor Nightshade

**Chapter Eight: Hot and Bothered**

Ratchet is a pervert in this chapter, just so y'all know. Well, he's a pervert all the time but he'll be blatant about it. I don't mention it in this chapter, BUT.

Carrying belongs to Litahatchee from her story **"Night Fire"**.

And I am not having issues with keeping Nightshade's gender straight. It's done that way for a reason, to show how certain things are affecting her as a femme. :D

I also know I haven't updated in a long aft time...bear with me. I haven't had much time to do anything but study and do homework lately.

* * *

…_hands were clawing at her chest plates, forcing them open. Nightshade screamed and pushed at the mech leering down at her, but he didn't budge. His chest plates hissed open…_

Nightshade shot up in his berth, shaking as he tried to shake the horrible dream from his processor. He glanced down at his chest. The armor was still completely intact, hiding the feminine shell beneath. Nightshade trembled slightly as he removed the chest armor and examined himself – her chest plates were still sealed shut. Good. Nightshade scooted over onto the edge of the berth and dropped onto the floor. He rummaged around underneath the berth for a few moments. Nightshade's nasal plates crinkled up at the moldy cube of energon he'd unearthed. Ew.

He tossed it into a recycling bin before reaching back underneath the berth. Nightshade found a riveter. A few moments and six rivets later, Nightshade had reattached the armor and was sitting cross-legged on the berth. He flopped backwards onto the cushion and shuttered his optics, struggling to initiate his recharge program. When he found that he couldn't initiate the program, Nightshade turned his gaze to his belongings scattered across the floor. Cleaning the medical bay had always made him sleepy, so why would his room be any different?

Nightshade immediately tackled the daunting task of organizing his messy room.

* * *

_Two hours later…_

Nightshade crept out of his room quietly. The hallway outside was dark, lit by tiny yellow lights embedded in the floor. Nightshade shut his door silently and made his way to the medical bay. If he couldn't fall asleep on his own, he'd read one of Ratchet's encyclopedias until he fell asleep. It only took Nightshade a few minutes to reach the medical bay.

He fished his identification chip from subspace, inserted it into the port on the wall, and went inside. It was dark and creepy looking, as was the norm. Nightshade shivered and hurried into the library. He flicked the back lights on and picked up a holocube. Nightshade shuddered when he remembered the last time he had failed one of Ratchet's pop quizzes. Nightshade had known from the moment he walked into Ratchet's office that he'd failed. He had failed horribly. It wasn't even technically his fault – they weren't even looking at that particular holocube. Ratchet had even admitted to administering the wrong exam, but no. He then went on to say that Nightshade should have been past those holocubes in his personal studies. Nightshade diligently began taking notes. That stupid essay was due today and he was just now starting it.

Nightshade made a note to stop procrastinating.

* * *

Ratchet twitched, purring in his sleep. Firestar and some other femme were standing rather close together, their hands starting to drift towards one another. He shifted his position in the chair, focusing the zoom in his optical software. The femmes giggled, shooting him appraising looks. Primus, this was why he loved being so good at his job – the femmes would kill for a few of his private "lessons". The taller black femme turned and opened her mouth plates. Instead of speech, he heard a rather loud, rather annoying buzz. Ratchet grimaced. This wasn't what had happened! What was that noise? His optical software came on line against his will. He saw the flashing red warning message in his vision and snarled quietly, cursing the direct link between the medical bay and his processing unit.

"Who the frag would be in the medical bay at this hour?" he grumbled to himself, wiping the remnants of recharge from his optics. He woefully stored the video file in its rightful spot before swinging his legs over the edge of the berth. His entire body _burned_. He'd take care of that later, but now he had a mech to kill.

* * *

Nightshade was awoken by a loud slamming noise. He yelped and jolted out of his seat, scrabbling wildly for his weapon. Ambush! Decepticons! Where was his gun? Nightshade slowly became aware of the smooth warm metal underneath his head. Since when were Decepticons smooth and warm? Nightshade cracked one optic open when he realized he wasn't being deactivated. Ratchet was standing in the entrance to the library, looking very, very cranky. The tray he had slammed against the wall was now severely dented. Nightshade gulped.

Maybe he _was_ going to be deactivated.

"What was that for, Ratchet?!" Nightshade exclaimed, struggling to sit up. Ratchet stalked into the library, his frame eerily lit by the halogen lights. Nightshade cringed, desperately looking for something to hide behind.

"It's four in the morning," Ratchet snapped, his left optic wincing slightly, "Why are you in here?"

"I couldn't recharge," Nightshade mumbled quietly. Ratchet's glare grew more intense.

"And why did you decide to wake me up in the process?" Ratchet asked. Nightshade stared up at him in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" Nightshade asked. He hadn't made any noise, he'd made especially sure of that!

"Every time that door opens during unauthorized hours, _I _get a loud, irritating notification that will not shut off until I come in here. Even while I'm recharging," Ratchet growled.

"I didn't know, I'm so sorry, Ratchet, I – "

"Shut. Up."

"But – "

"I told you to _shut up_, Nightshade!" Ratchet finally snapped, looking very upset, "This was the first time in weeks that I get a full night of recharge and _you_ruin it. You know what? Go get me a cube of energon with a shot of high grade. Heat it up for me."

Nightshade goggled at Ratchet for a moment. Ratchet's glare intensified even further when Nightshade did not immediately snap to attention.

"_Go_."

Nightshade turned and sprinted out of the room.

* * *

Nightshade was a smart mech. He knew where Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were hiding their stash of high grade. Nightshade thoughtfully relieved them of some of the contraband and took it back to his room. Nightshade had a very good hiding spot for his share of the high grade. There was a ground-level air conditioning vent beneath his recharge berth. If Nightshade carefully laid the barrels on their sides, he could just about fit them all inside.

He didn't drink, but high grade was hard to come by these days, especially now that the twins were forbidden from making any more. He could barter the high grade for paid time off, if he really wanted to. But Nightshade wasn't going to do anything quite that stupid.

Instead, he decided to give Ratchet a shot of the high grade. The mech's silence would be obligatory because they would both be suspended if they were caught consuming the stuff. Nightshade brought the mixture back to Ratchet, almost leaping when Ratchet grabbed the cube from him. The mech went into his office and began drinking it, trying to make himself believe that he _wasn't_at work, that there was a pretty femme waiting for him in his apartment, and that he didn't need to deal with Nightshade. He could almost make himself believe all of that. Instead, the drink didn't last nearly as long as he would have wanted, and he found himself wistfully staring down at the empty cube. He tossed the empty cube into a recycling unit, his fuel tanks pleasantly warm from the combination. Nightshade was proving to be a good little rookie. He poked his head outside of his door. Nightshade was sitting on the floor, reading something.

"Nightshade? Meet me in room eight, your physical is scheduled…"

Ratchet stared at the medical bay doors. Nightshade had disappeared so quickly that he wondered if the mech had teleportation abilities like Skywarp.

* * *

Nightshade sprinted down the hallway, his processor twisting. The dream his computing center had conjured up the previous night was replaying in her mind, and instead of an unnamed mech, his processor had replaced him with images of the mechs he did know. Sunstreaker. Bluestreak. Sideswipe. Kup. Even Bumblebee.

He slammed into something hard with a noisy clang. He bounced off of the surface and onto his aft, dazed. Nightshade stammered out an apology, rubbing his aching cranial unit. He looked up. It was Prime. A calculating look had taken the usual gentle smile. Prime offered one hand silently and heaved Nightshade to his feet effortlessly. Nightshade began trying to edge around him.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Optimus asked, though the gentle teasing in his voice was belied by the glint in his optic. Nightshade took an involuntary step backwards.

"My room, sir," Nightshade stammered out. Optimus took a half step forwards, reaching out to touch Nightshade's shoulder.

"Is there something we need to discuss, Nightshade?"

_Primus, he knows._ Nightshade immediately tensed and began stepping back away from Prime. Prime advanced. Nightshade instantly began panicking. She stood no chance against Prime himself. He would be able to overpower her in seconds.

"N-no sir, I don't think so." Nightshade took another small step backwards. Prime frowned slightly but managed to keep it hidden.

"I think it would be best if we sat down and talked, Nightshade. Ratchet is very concerned for you," Optimus said gently, one hand firmly clamping onto Nightshade's shoulder. Optimus was genuinely concerned for the rookie. He could feel the tension in the mech's frame. The fear in Nightshade's optics was enough to make Prime's spark fall.

Optimus knew he was an imposing mech. He was gigantic compared to Ironhide and Ratchet, but he was quite gentle. Prime had never purposefully harmed anyone. Sure, there was the one time he had stepped on one of the minibots, but that wasn't even technically his fault. Prime went out of his way to avoid frightening mechs and the organics, but Nightshade's obvious fear was enough to make his spark twinge. What had he, Optimus Prime, done to merit such distrust from Nightshade? He had performed his every duty to the very best of his abilities. He had been the one that all of his mechs depended on. Why couldn't Nightshade trust him with whatever he was hiding?

"Please come with me, Nightshade," Optimus said. Though his tone was soft, it left no space for argument. The walk back to Prime's office was easily the longest one of Nightshade's life. All the while, thoughts whirred through 'his' processor.

_Prime has no use for me, he's already bonded. He wouldn't be able to sire a sparkling by me, he'd only be able to interface… _Nightshade shuddered quietly. Who would be the first to have her, then? Would it be in order of seniority or whoever got a hold of her first? Nightshade subconsciously wrapped his arms around his chest plate, rubbing his arms delicately.

Optimus watched Nightshade from the corner of his optic. He had his arms wrapped around his chest plate. The only time a mech (or femme) ever did that was if their chest plates had been forced open, or Primus forbid, forced to join sparks with another. Prime's concern only grew tenfold. He knew Nightshade lied about his age. Ratchet had even confided in him about Nightshade still being a subadult.

Optimus opened his door and waited for Nightshade to go in. Nightshade gave a soft mumbled thank you and went into the room. Optimus followed him inside. He wordlessly took a seat and motioned for Nightshade to do the same.

"Please sit down, Nightshade."

The mech obeyed shakily. Optimus's exhaust sighed gently as he rifled through a few datapads on his desk. What was he to do? He peeked over at Nightshade, who looked very small and very out of place. He was shaking where he sat. Poor kid must have been terrified.

"Nightshade, I know that you've been lying about your age. I also know that you are not an adult male," Optimus said, pausing to gather his thoughts. Nightshade froze. His fuel tank disappeared as he processed Prime's words. He knew? Oh _frag_. Fraggity fraggin' frag. These were her last moments as a free femme, her last moments as an innocent. Optimus didn't notice the fact that Nightshade was now trembling. Luckily. He continued speaking.

"But that does not matter right now. I won't punish you, Nightshade. All I want to know is why you lied to us about your age...as a subadult, you won't be able to go out on another mission," Optimus said gently, looking up at him. Nightshade looked strangely relieved about something. Optimus filed the reaction away. He, Ratchet, and Red Alert needed to have a discussion.

"I'm sorry, sir. I lied because…because…"

Nightshade faltered, trying to think up of a good story to tell. Prime took his silence as a moment of weakness.

"Take your time, Nightshade."

"I lied because I was afraid," Nightshade mumbled quietly, ducking his optics down. Optimus glanced up sharply, his intakes hissing quietly. Nightshade subtly scoot away from him at the angry noise.

"Afraid of what, Nightshade? There is no reason for you to fear any of us. Has anyone threatened you…or touched you in any way?" Optimus asked. His optics narrowed when Nightshade crossed his arms over his chest at the last statement.

"No, no sir. I was afraid that I'd be treated like a youngling after all that I've been through. I just want to see my family again…" Nightshade trailed off, wishing that there was something else that he could say to convince Prime.

"Is there anything else you would like to tell me, Nightshade?" Optimus asked, his concerned gaze settling on Nightshade's crossed arms once more. Nightshade shook his head.

"N-no sir."

There was a moment of silence as Prime nodded and leaned back in his chair.

"Very well, Nightshade. I think you should avoid the medical bay for now. Ratchet is very upset with you," Optimus said. Nightshade looked up.

"Is that an official command, sir?"

Optimus gave Nightshade an odd little smile.

"Yes it is, soldier. Noon should be long enough for Ratchet to defuse," Optimus said, motioning Nightshade away. Nightshade stood and gave Optimus a smart salute, waiting until the Commander had returned the gesture. Optimus watched as Nightshade took a step backwards, did an about face, and all but ran out of the room. He shook his head slightly.

Nightshade was an odd one.

* * *

Instead of recharging like Prime had suggested, Nightshade went up to the rarely used astrometrics lab. It was stark and empty, waiting for a qualified technician to tune the supplies. Nightshade had done a bit of tinkering with the basic wormhole scanner and he wanted to see if something had turned up. Currently, the large map on the wall was tracking Elita One and her crew. They were three months away. Three full months.

Nightshade wasn't sure he could keep his secret for much longer now that Prime was in on it. He rubbed his chest plates once more before turning to the console beside him. He powered up the scanning log. There was nothing of consequence in this solar system. He read over the scans further out. A small blip appeared on the screen, directly in front of Elita's ship.

He jolted up out of his seat and began typing quickly. Where did this thing end? After a few keystrokes and a brief consultation with the operation manual, Nightshade managed to extrapolate the approximate tail end of the worm hole. If Elita entered it, she would end up on the other side of the Sun, but much, much closer. It would cut a full month and a half off of her journey!

Nightshade squealed like the little femme she was. For the first time in his entire career as a rookie, he had actually discovered something that would help their cause. Nightshade immediately downloaded all of the information and immediately began sprinting. He dodged Red Alert who stared after him suspiciously. Nightshade waved at him before turning down an adjacent corridor. Two flights of stairs and one head on collision later, Nightshade was on the main floor. Optimus's office was only a few dozen meters down the hallway. In his moment of excitement, Nightshade forgot all of the rules regarding when entering a superior officer's room.

Optimus sat up when his door suddenly flew open. Nightshade barreled into the room.

"Sir! Come with me! I have something to show you!" Nightshade blurted out. Prime raised one optic ridge. If Nightshade was ignoring the rules, the news must be good.

"What?" he asked, standing up to humor Nightshade.

"I've found a wormhole that Elita can use! It'll cut her trip in half!" Nightshade babbled eagerly, tugging on his hand. Optimus blinked down at the rookie.

"I didn't know you could use the wormhole scanners," he said.

"Oh, that? I followed Beta around for a few orns on Elita's ship. She taught me basics before I went and worked with Moon Racer. Sir, I need Jazz to fine tune the scans," Nightshade said. Optimus smiled at Nightshade as they walked to the command center.

"Very well. I'll call him down immediately," Optimus said. With that, he patched the transmission through to Jazz. The saboteur had undergone training for using all sorts of scanners, even wormhole scanners. Though he was no expert, he still knew the equipment better than Nightshade did. It was a relatively short trip to the command center, especially with Nightshade all but prancing around Optimus.

Nightshade swept the dust off of the astrometrics console and powered it up. He began typing codes and coordinates into the console. They watched as a map appeared on the screen. There was a small blip near Elita's ship.

"See? See?"

Jazz walked into the command center shortly after Prime and Nightshade did, brightening when he saw the little blue mech tapping away like mad on the keyboard.

"How do you know how to use the console, Nightshade? Hey, a wormhole!"

* * *

The news traveled around the base quickly. Nightshade, the complete greenhorn, had discovered a shortcut for the femmes. Many a mech thanked Nightshade for his services, especially Ironhide. Nightshade didn't quite know what they were alluding to, but nodded and pretended to know everything they were commenting on. Ratchet himself had come down from the medical bay to examine Nightshade's scans.

Jazz grinned over at Ratchet, his visor flashing mischievously.

"You know, Nightshade…if you ever decide to ditch The Hatchet, you can always work with me," he said. Ratchet rolled his optics skyward and opened his mouth to reply, but Nightshade beat him to it. Without missing a beat, Nightshade spoke.

"No thank you, Jazz. I've got a femme to impress. I'd rather have fixable dents than to be missing my arms," Nightshade quipped, grinning at the monitor. Jazz snickered. Nightshade wasn't good with hand-to-hand combat.

"Who is it?" Sunstreaker asked, having overheard the mech's comment.

"None of your business, and kindly remove your hand from my shoulder, Sunstreaker," Nightshade said, typing in a few more numbers.

"Ah? Nightshade's got a girlfriend?" Sideswipe cooed, leaning over the monitor. His face was a hand span away from Nightshade's. The small blue mech cringed slightly.

"Not exactly. Now get out of my way."

"Not til you tell me who it is."

"Instead of just standing there, _sir_, why don't you remove them?" Nightshade asked coolly, glaring up at Ratchet, "And before telling me not to order you around, we're not in the medical bay."

"You still can't tell me what to do, Nightshade," Ratchet said, amused. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe hung around to watch this confrontation play out.

"True, but I did get you high grade this morning. Aren't you going to ask where I got it?"

"…good point. Where _did_ you get that high grade?"

"Trade secret. Now are you going to remove those two hooligans or will I have to do it myself?"

There was a brief pause as Ratchet contemplated his next move.

"Do it yourself."

"Fine."

Nightshade took a moment to straighten out the datapads at his elbow. Then he looked up at the Twins, narrowing his optics up at them.

"I know exactly which locker you've been hiding your high grade in. If you don't want it to be confiscated, you'll get out of my way and keep it like that. Got it?"

The mechs disappeared in twin streaks of color. Ratchet stared after them, his jaw dropped. Not even _he_ had been able to get them out of the medical bay so quickly! He turned back to Nightshade, who was serenely typing away. Nightshade pointedly ignored him.

"Where are they hiding it, Nightshade?" Ratchet asked, hoping to nick a few barrels before they relocated their stash. Nightshade looked up at him, his optics wide and confused looking.

"Hiding what, sir?" Nightshade asked sweetly, folding his hands across the top of the keyboard.

"The high grade. Where is it?"

"What high grade, sir? I don't know what you mean, sir," Nightshade continued, his lip components twitching slightly as he tried not to smile. Ratchet made an exasperated noise.

"You know fully well what I'm talking about, Nightshade. Where is it?"

"Great bluff, wasn't it? The high grade came from my personal stash, and no, I won't give you any. However, if you want to trade hours…we can do business later," Nightshade said, turning back to the keyboard. Well, one little lie couldn't hurt, could it? Ratchet made a strange noise. He managed to sound offended, incredulous, and surprised all at once. He opened his mouth to speak. He knew the codes to Nightshade's room, and if the little fragger wouldn't share, he would confiscate it himself!

"And no, sir, it's not in my room. I'm not _that _stupid," Nightshade finished, unable to hide his grin. Ratchet glowered at the small mech, cursing his name. Nightshade only continued typing on the keyboard.

"You know, for a rookie you sure know how to drive a hard bargain," Ratchet grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. Nightshade shrugged, hitting the enter key a few times.

"I'm good at what I do," Nightshade said simply, picking up one of Jazz's datapads. Ratchet made a soft humming noise.

"What else are you good at?"

Nightshade pretended that the comment wasn't as suggestive as it sounded.

"I'm a fast learner."

_Oh frag, did I _really _just say that_?

Ratchet snorted quietly.

"If you're working for me, you'll have to be a fast learner. You never know when I might spring a practical on you."

The low purr at the end of Ratchet's voice did a combination of things to Nightshade. First, Nightshade had to supress the shiver threatening to run up her spinal relay at the statement. Secondly, Nightshade felt _her _spark tingle and burn, like it wanted to leap out of her chest. Thirdly, Nightshade felt a strange sensation where her interface port was. She didn't understand what it was but made a note to look it up in the library. Fourthly and finally, Nightshade's vocalizer acted on its own.

"As long as it's not the one you reserve for femmes," Nightshade muttered quietly. Then his optics widened.

_I…said that out loud. Dear Primus, please intervene, please do something – _

Primus must have been in a good mood that day, for Jazz walked up to the console and peered over Nightshade's shoulder, examining the numbers and logarithms.

Ratchet's jaw dropped at the nerve of the little rookie. Just which video files _was _he watching during those late night study sessions in the library? Ratchet mentally groaned when he realized that he'd left a box full of very incriminating video files in the very back of the library. How did Nightshade find those? And how on Cybertron did he know that Ratchet was the one recording all of that?! And his comment was _way_ out of line.

"Hey Jazz," Nightshade said, feeling his face plates heat up with embarrassment. He really didn't mean to watch that video, but Nightshade knew next to nothing about interfacing, and he really wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

Ratchet made a note to destroy all other evidence of how he did his 'private study sessions'. He'd slept with a dozen out of hundreds of interns. It was unfortunate that the only eight femmes that had gone through his intern program were among those dozen. Now everyone thought that he was some sort of mech whore.

"Hey kiddo. Make any progress?" Jazz asked cheerfully, "Oh, you might want to reconsider that decimal point. You're maneuvering a class three warship, not a transport vessel."

"Gotcha. Is that better?" Nightshade asked, desperately ignoring the mech behind him.

"It looks fine to me. Keep up the good work," Jazz said. With a quick pat on the shoulder, the mech turned and walked away. There were a few moments of awkward silence.

"Nightshade?"

"Yes, boss?"

"I'm…I'm going to pretend that you didn't say that," Ratchet said, shuddering in disgust. He needed to talk to Mirage. Otherwise, he would have to remove Nightshade from the medical bay.

"Me too."

* * *

Later on that night, after Nightshade himself had sent Elita the message and coordinates, he lay in his recharge berth. His feet were propped up against the wall, his back across the berth, and his head dangling over the edge. Nightshade may have looked at peace, but on the inside, the mech was panicking.

The femme hiding in the armor was confused. She was confused as to why she was suddenly attracted to Ratchet. And why did she want to open her chest plates whenever he was within arm's reach? Was that what interfacing really was? But that wasn't what she had seen in the video. They had been using cables. Nightshade groaned quietly, ungracefully maneuvering his body onto the berth. Why did she say what she said today?

Nightshade turned over onto his front, computing center spinning as the energon flowed back into his body. He could do this, he could think these things through without freaking out. Now…

What did she really think about Ratchet? Nightshade thought for a moment. He was very caring, though in his own demented way. He was tall. And the color red suited him more than that atrocious chartreuse he had seen in photographs. Nightshade lifted his head and dropped back onto the berth, exasperated and more confused than ever. Why was she getting all warm and tingly thinking about him? Was this type of reaction normal? Nightshade once again let his head fall back onto the berth with a muffled thump.

Why did she flirt with him?

And most importantly, why did he flirt back?

* * *

Elita One smiled as she saw the blue ionized gas seeping out of the wormhole. Nightshade had done very well to find this wormhole. After verifying its tail end, Wheel Jack had commented on it not registering on their ship scanners. He had cross examined the data with Jazz, and found the anomaly to be usable. He had even sent a probe in before them. The result was the same. The wormhole ended just a few weeks away from the planet they were headed for. Elita only shrugged at the news, not wanting to question their good luck any more than necessary. Firestar expertly guided the ship's nose into the break. Gravity took over and sucked the ship into the maelstrom of twisted space and time.

Elita grimaced at the sensation of being stretched out and compressed at the same time, the conflicting gravitational waves wreaking havoc with her molecular structure. Thankfully, the ship took the brunt of the waves and held. Elita and her crew held on for dear life as the turbulence picked up. She was slammed against her seat, stars flashing before her optics. Firestar maintained a steady course, angling the nose of the ship into the oncoming wave. She timed the pulses just right and managed to ride the waves. The shuddering walls of the ship groaned, but held. The ride grew rougher and rougher as the passageway shrank, the tidal forces propelling the ship forwards at an alarming rate. Firestar threw the ship into reverse, hoping to over come the effects, but it was in vain.

Minutes later (though it seemed like eons), they were flung out of the wormhole with a bright flash of light. Firestar somehow kept control of the ship, narrowly missing a nearby asteroid cluster. The ship reeled out of control for breem or two before Firestar regained control of it. She slowed the ship down and cloaked. Then she guided the ship into a nearby gas nebula for cover.

Elita shakily stood up.

This was why she hated wormholes.

* * *

Haha, Ratchet's getting Nightshade all hot and bothered...and he doesn't even know it! And the video was from Ratchet's wild days at the academy. He's not always like that.


	9. Punishment

Chapter Nine

And here we learn just how much Nightshade pissed Ratchet off.

* * *

Ratchet was not having a good day. First, Sideswipe had deemed it necessary to try and 'lighten the mood' around the base. His prank would have been funny if it had worked properly. Sideswipe had rigged one of the ceiling tiles to drop water balloons on anyone who walked underneath. It was a simple device intended for Ironhide, who coincidentally, was covered in mud and twigs. But with all things mechanical came the possibility of failure, and this device was no exception. It had failed to deploy at the correct time.

Instead of thoroughly soaking Ironhide, Sideswipe had nearly ended up drowning Mikaela and Samuel. Not only did Ratchet have to check the humans for damage, he also had to reassure Bee that they had not drowned. Secondly, Nightshade had skipped out on a _third_ physical. The mech had seen the schedule posted on Ratchet's door and immediately called in one of the favors that some mech owed him. Now Nightshade was nowhere to be found. Scanners couldn't – or wouldn't, as Ratchet's luck would have it – locate the little fragger, and Ratchet was now stuck in the medical bay with nothing to do.

Prime had also skipped out on his physical. Ratchet wondered if he and Nightshade were taking notes from one another – they both disappeared at around the same time. Ratchet's frown deepened. He would have to stop using names on the schedule. Finally, Ratchet could not focus on the task at hand. He was too disturbed by the turn in events. Nightshade had made a suggestive comment towards him. That in itself was enough to put Ratchet off, but throwing in the fact that Nightshade was still a subadult was nearly enough to make Ratchet purge his fuel tanks. He had immediately changed the schedules so that he wouldn't have to see Nightshade more than once or twice a day until he could figure out what had actually happened.

There was also that strange fluttering in his spark box. It still hadn't gone away, even with the extended period of rest that Red Alert had suggested. Ratchet absently pressed his hand over his spark box, wincing as it fluttered again. It wasn't painful, it was just _there._ He would never admit it, but he was frightened. Did he have some sort of deformity of the spark? Or was his spark about to fail on him? He shuddered. He hoped not – he was too young to die! He still hadn't bonded, though he was ready to give up on that, too. No femme was interested in more than a night or two with him.

Eh. Whatever. Their loss.

Mirage had also been giving him strange glares. Ratchet, for the life of him, could not understand why Mirage would be fragged off with him. Maybe it was because Mirage _was_ Nightshade's guardian. Ratchet shuddered again. The little mech needed a thorough examination of the logic center. With his exhaust sighing gently, Ratchet made up his mind. He would have to chat with Mirage. His open hostility was starting to draw attention from even the most dimwitted of Autobots – Ironhide had even commented on teaching the "rich spoiled sparkling" a lesson in manners.

* * *

It was a beautiful morning outside. The sky was peppered with white fluffy clouds and brilliant sunlight, but Mirage did not pay attention to any of that. Nightshade, the precious little femme he had been assigned to guard and protect, had just confided in him that she had a bit of a crush on Ratchet. Mirage sneered. Of all mechs, that one? The little femme was pretty enough to have almost any mech at her beck and call, and she had settled on him?

He would have to 'suggest' a more suitable mech. Sunstreaker would be good for her – not only was he independently wealthy, he was approachable and trustworthy once he was completely relaxed around someone. He and his brother, though immature, would be able to take good care of Nightshade and provide the lifestyle she was used to and that she deserved – being waited on hand and foot. His thoughts turned back to the mad medic. Ratchet was good looking and all, but by Mirage's opinion, he was a disgrace to medics and all of the alpha class.

Mirage had heard all of the rumors about Ratchet's femme interns. He had heard it from their own vocal modulators of his talent in areas not in the medical bay. He had heard from Firestar that Ratchet had interfaced with nearly all of his interns, which was a record number unto itself. Mirage vowed to keep Nightshade away from Ratchet, especially since Sideswipe had been spreading rumors of Ratchet's newly ressurected ways of teaching.

Primus only knew what Ratchet would do if he got his hands on her!

Mirage wrapped an arm around the femme seated beside him, gently rubbing her arm.

"What is it, Mirage? You've got that look on your face," Nightshade said, glancing up at her guard.

"Nothing, nothing."

Nightshade knew that Mirage was lying but did not speak. She knew better than to ask. He wouldn't say a word. Mirage went back to his thoughts. The first time he had ever met Ratchet, he had had nothing but respect for the young medical student. Then, not two vorns later, Firestar had bragged about her short lived relationship with him. Mirage's nasal plates crinkled in disgust. If Ratchet was running about with a lower Delta class femme, who knew who else he was with and what he was doing with said femme?

Such disgraceful behavior.

Mirage's grip around Nightshade tightened marginally – the medic wasn't going to get close enough to her to even speak to her.

* * *

"Thank you for coming, Mirage. I wanted to speak with you," Ratchet said, sitting down at his desk. The haughty mech only nodded, his cool gaze traveling around the office.

"I've always sensed some hostility from you, Mirage – quite frankly, I don't care why you dislike me. But I would like to know why you're suddenly being so open with your dislike," Ratchet said, folding his hands across his desk top.

"Nightshade is my charge, Ratchet, and you would do well to remember that," Mirage spat out, his glare turning vicious. Ratchet sat up, startled. He had expected something more than that statement.

"What on Cybertron are you talking about, Mirage?" Ratchet asked.

"Firestar told me _all_ about your teaching methods, Ratchet, and I'll be damned if you employ those methods on he - him! And don't even get me started on what Sideswipe has been saying - " Mirage snarled, his spark going cold at his almost slip-up. Ratchet's optics narrowed to slits. He didn't notice the fact that Mirage had almost said 'her'.

"You of all mechs should know better than to believe every rumor that you hear," Ratchet warned quietly, "I may enjoy interfacing, Mirage, but I am not a sick glitch! How dare you think that I would even _look _at Nightshade in that manner?!"

Mirage blinked. He'd forgotten that Ratchet didn't know about the femme-in-hiding. He tried to speak, to apologize, but Ratchet would have none of it.

"No, Mirage, do _not _interrupt me. I've been more than patient with you and your unwarranted case of self-superiority, but you have crossed a very fine line. I take my job very seriously, and I obey and respect every law written by our Prime. You have _no _right to even insinuate that I would do something like that," Ratchet hissed quietly, "I am beyond insulted. I am _disgusted_, Mirage."

When Mirage did not speak, he continued on a different train of thought. His voice was gentler. "Though I have no reason to explain my actions to you, I will do it if it will set your spark at east."

Mirage nodded hesitantly.

"The 'teaching method' that you referred to was _one _time with Firestar and another femme. That was _vorns_ ago when I was still at the Academy."

"But Firestar said – "

"Since when has Firestar _ever_ been a reliable source of information?"

"She said you slept with every female intern, and I've heard it from those femmes, too!"

"I've had eight female interns over the course of almost six hundred vorns, and yes, I admit that I slept with all eight of them. Am I a horrible mech for accepting what they offered me freely and willingly? Or am I a horrible, horrible mech for satisfying their needs as well as mine?"

"No, it does not, but I am still concerned," Mirage admitted quietly. He himself had been with more than a few of his female friends. He almost winced at the angry glare from Ratchet.

"I know that I am not the kindest mech in the world, and I know that I tend to say things that I should not say, especially regarding my interface partners. Those femmes were willing, if that's what you are questioning," Ratchet said, his voice going frigid.

"I was not questioning whether or not the femmes were willing, Ratchet, and I think you know that. I was, however, questioning your intentions with Nightshade – "

"Don't you _dare_ ask me a question like that, Mirage. He is a _child_," Ratchet snapped, his voice growing louder as he grew angrier. He stood up, looming over the mech seated in front of him, "I don't know what your problem is, but I can assure you that the only thing I expect is from him is nothing less than perfection in my medical bay."

Mirage rubbed his aching cranial unit. He never meant to question Ratchet's ethics and morals. Now he only hoped that he hadn't fragged up too badly with the medic.

"I apologize for making that statement, Ratchet. I often forget that he is still a child and not a fully grown mech capable of making his own decisions. Please forgive me," Mirage said quietly. Ratchet nodded, slowly sinking back into his chair. His anger began to dissipate when Mirage admitted to his mistake.

"Is there anything else you would like to know about my _past_?" Ratchet inquired quietly, "And I've already dealt with Sideswipe. He's apologized for spreading those rumors."

"What happened with Firestar, Ratchet? I know you and she were involved for a few vorns, but she never told me why your relationship ended…or why she was so angry with you," Mirage asked. Ratchet sighed softly, his shoulders drooping slightly.

"She reminded me too much of a femme that I nearly bonded with. And Firestar spread those rumors because she thought that I ended our relationship for another, which was completely untrue," Ratchet said, his spark twisting sadly at the memory of the femme he had nearly bonded himself to. Her betrayal had happened almost a thousand vorns ago, and the wound was still as fresh as the day it had happened.

"Very well, Ratchet. I admit that I was wrong in questioning your morals. I should have known that you were nothing less than honorable," Mirage admitted disdainfully, "But whatever happens in the future, you are to stay away from Nightshade."

"I accept your apology, Mirage. Thank you for taking the time to come to me instead of asking someone else. And though I am confused as to why you are warning me to stay away from Nightshade, I will."

Mirage nodded, satisfied with Ratchet's admission.

"Thank you, Ratchet."

"I would appreciate it if you sat down with Nightshade and explained that the comments he made last week were entirely inappropriate, especially in that situation. Those video files that he watched were purged from my memory banks and were supposed to be destroyed. Those were also personal memories and I would appreciate it if he did not mention them to anyone."

"What video files?" Mirage asked, his optic ridges furrowing.

"Nightshade…he watched some of the old interface videos from my wild Academy days," Ratchet said wryly. Now he was definitely going to destroy those videos. Except for the one with Firestar and that other femme. He was too fond of that one to let it go. Mirage choked.

"He _what_?!" Mirage exclaimed, standing up. Ratchet nodded, one optic ridge rising.

"Yes…I do not know how he managed to get into the back of my library, Mirage. Here is a datapad containing references to informative interface encyclopedias if he really wants to know about the act," Ratchet said dryly, unsubspacing a datapad and handing it to Mirage, "Or you could give him that talk. I don't care, as long as he doesn't rifle through my personal videos again."

"I will have a chat with him," Mirage said, his voice ominous and low. For a moment, Ratchet pitied the mech.

"Thank you, Mirage. Do you have any more questions for me?"

"Yes, actually, I do. What exactly did Nightshade say?" Mirage asked, his optics narrowing slightly.

"Oh, Primus…I was…uhm…interfacing with Firestar and I…asked her if she liked the practical exam I was administering. Nightshade made a reference to that," Ratchet said quickly, embarrassed with sharing that memory. If Mirage was human, his face would have blanched before turning bright red.

"I…see," Mirage said haltingly, blinking once or twice. Was Nightshade feeling more than a crush for Ratchet? She had better not be!

"I hate to ask so much of you, but Nightshade has ignored my every page. I'd appreciate it if you told him to see me once you are finished with him," Ratchet asked. Mirage nodded, stiffly getting to his feet.

"Thank you for explaining the situation to me, Ratchet. I wouldn't have known otherwise. As for Nightshade, I'll _personally_ escort him here."

Ratchet nodded, turning back to his computer screen. Mirage left the office, his optics narrowing. Now, where was Nightshade so that he could let the femme know exactly how displeased he was?

* * *

"Nightshade, get your aft over here _now_," Mirage said coolly, crossing his arms over his chest plates. Nightshade whirled around in the booth, ignoring the snickers from the mechs around him.

"Go on, Nightshade, daddy Mirage wants to speak with you," Sideswipe teased gently, shoving Nightshade over in the seat. Nightshade growled quietly before obediently walking over to the seething mech.

"Yes, Mirage?"

"We need to talk. Now."

The barely restrained anger in Mirage's normally cool voice was enough to frighten Nightshade. Mirage walked out of the room without even speaking. Nightshade scampered after him. Once outside, Mirage grabbed Nightshade's arm and dragged him into a conference room. Mirage locked the door and turned the sound dampeners up as high as they would go. Then he turned to the femme sitting in the chair.

"Nightshade, I cannot even begin to articulate how upset I am with you right now," Mirage said, his voice as cold as ice.

"What did – "

"Do _not_ interrupt me, Nightshade. You've disappointed me. You truly have. What on Cybertron were you thinking when you made that comment towards Ratchet?" Mirage asked.

"It slipped out, Mirage, I don't understand what the problem is," Nightshade said.

"Ratchet thinks you're a _subadult_."

"…and? What does that have to do with anything? He didn't say anything back to me - "

"I went to his office and nearly accused him of coming on to you, Nightshade. You may not be as old as the rest of us but you know our laws very well. Thankfully, he set things straight," Mirage said, rubbing his head. Nightshade only looked more confused.

"What are you talking about, Mirage? He _never said anything_ back to me, he pushed me away! I apologized for mentioning that - "

Mirage ignord her, glazing over her statement with an annoyed wave of the hand.

"That brings me to my next concern, Nightshade. Ratchet informed me that the video file that you watched was private. Why on Cybertron did you watch it?" Mirage asked, his voice dangerously low as he ignored Nightshade's every attempt to defend the medic. It was his job to keep Nightshade as shielded from the world as possible.

"I wanted to know what interfacing was," Nightshade said, blinking, "Ratchet said I could watch any of the video files in the library."

"You have no need to know what interfacing is. And I highly doubt that Ratchet meant that you could watch video files labeled as private," Mirage said.

"But I only wanted to see, it's not like I want to actually do it! And they weren't even labeled as private – "

"No, Nightshade. You don't understand – you shouldn't even know what interfacing is, not until a suitable mate has been selected for you. And you had better not even be _thinking_ of interfacing," Mirage warned quietly. He was very strict with his charge, especially when it came to interfacing. She may have been a fully grown femme in her own right, but Mirage still believed in some of their old social beliefs. Day Lily had been very specific in her instructions – Nightshade was to be kept as shielded as possible.

"Mirage – "

"Do not argue with me. This conversation is over. I expect you to write a letter of apology to Ratchet for watching his private videos and for causing this misunderstanding. I will also be escorting you to the medical bay. Ratchet wants to speak with you," Mirage said, opening the door. Nightshade obediently stepped out, a frown on his face plates.

"Now, come along. We can't keep him waiting."

Nightshade followed him to the medical bay, not even daring to look up. Red Alert gave them a questioning glance as they passed by, but Mirage didn't even speak. He stepped past Red Alert and rapped twice on Ratchet's door. When Ratchet called them in, Mirage pushed Nightshade into the room before following him in.

"Ah, good that you're here, Mirage. Since you're his guardian, I'd prefer that you had an opinion in the matter," Ratchet said, turning to them both. He motioned for Mirage to sit down. Nightshade made to sit down but was stopped by a glare from Ratchet.

"Did I say that you could sit down, Nightshade?"

"N-no sir," Nightshade whispered, hanging his head.

"Mirage and I had a discussion this morning regarding the inappropriate comments that you made last week. I wouldn't be so upset with you had you not been heard by Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Now there is a rumor going around the base that I've reverted to my old ways. You've ruined my reputation, Nightshade, and I am not pleased. Prime has called for a meeting with me to discuss the situation," Ratchet said quietly, his optics narrowing up at the rookie. Nightshade gulped. Prime was involved?

"I'm s-sorr-"

_"Were you given permission to speak?"_ Ratchet asked sharply.

"N-no sir."

"Then keep your vocal processor off. Compute?"

Nightshade nodded weakly.

"You've known from the beginning how serious I am with my job as chief medical officer. Prime knows I would _never_ do anything to jeopardize my position as such - my promiscuity while I attended the Academy was questionable, I know, but I was nothing more than a basic physician. That, however, is not tolerated from someone in my position. That is why he is allowing me to punish you appropriately. You will be reporting to Prime and explaining to him why you made those comments."

Nightshade nodded slowly.

"You've betrayed my trust and friendship," Ratchet said quietly, "And you've disappointed me, Nightshade. I had higher hopes for you, but I'm beginning to doubt your position in the medical bay. Due to what's been happening, I've come to the conclusion that I've been far too lenient with you. I've been too friendly. You're the first intern that I have ever taught that has needed to be put on the demerits system. There's always a first, I suppose."

"Demerits? What do you mean?" Mirage asked curiously.

"Every time he does something wrong, he gets a demerit. For your comment last week, you will receive two. For bribing an officer with high grade, you will receive three demerits – and yes, I've told Prime. He has punished me according to our rules. You are subject to the same rules. Since you are a child, you cannot serve time in the brig. You will be receiving demerits instead. You will receive one demerit for every time you ignored my page. That puts you right at nine, Nightshade."

Nightshade looked up.

"But – "

"That's another demerit for arguing with me. I am chief medical officer of this medical bay and you are an intern. You will do well to learn your place," Ratchet snapped at him, "You are now at ten demerits."

Mirage winced out of sympathy.

"For earning five, you will receive a verbal warning. You are not to engage in any more questionable behavior in the medical bay or outside of the medical bay. For earning ten demerits, you are now suspended."

At his words, Nightshade's optics widened. Her spark fell, contracting in an icy block of numbness. She was suspended? How could he suspend her? He didn't even give her a chance to explain her side of the story. She had watched the first few minutes of the video, watching as the couple touched one another, but once the male had made the comment about the 'practical' and Nightshade had recognized his voice, she had turned the file off. Nightshade felt sorrow well up inside of her. After all she had worked for, she was being punished without being allowed to even defend herself. Even though Mirage expressly forbid her from even looking at the encyclopedias, she was very curious about interfacing, and she had reasoned that Mirage had forbid her from looking at the holocubes, not the vid. files.

"For how long is he suspended, Ratchet?" Mirage asked.

"One week. Your position as an intern in the medical bay has been compromised. Any more questionable behavior and you will be kicked out of the medical bay. You are also ineligible to apply for further training for one year," Ratchet said, signing off on Nightshade's suspension sheet. Nightshade nodded miserably, struggling not to burst into tears. Is this what she got for being so curious?

"Oh, and make sure to keep up your studies. I want you to write a two thousand word essay on trust and why it is important in the medical bay. I also expect worksheets number two hundred and forty three to two hundred and ninety five completed upon your return, as well as a short essay over each of the three required readings. You'll also have an exam over chapters twelve through nineteen when you come back into the medical bay. Be prepared to do a verbal and visual presentation over digital maintenance by the twenty third, too. I might have extra assignments for you, so do not ignore any of my pages. Oh, and since you're so interested in astrometrics, go ahead and write an essay on the components of a wormhole and the physics that go with it. Got it?" Ratchet had taken on a sarcastic tone by the end of the sentence. A little voice in the back of his processor was telling him that there was no way that Nightshade was going to be able to finish all of that, but he pushed it away angrily. Nightshade had very nearly cost him his license to practice, and he'd be damned if he didn't punish the rookie accordingly.

Nightshade nodded, looking like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"And about the demerits, Ratchet. Do those ever go away?" Mirage asked.

"Yes. I can clear them whenever I feel like it," Ratchet said absently, turning back to Mirage.

"Do you understand and agree to the terms of your punishment?"

"Yes, sir," Nightshade mumbled quietly.

"Very well. Prime is on his way and you will be explaining your reasoning behind your actions. He will be here in one minute," Ratchet said, his voice frosty. Nightshade nodded, fidgeting slightly. Ratchet pitied the mech for a moment. He knew how hard it was to keep up with studies as an intern, but his comments had been entirely inappropriate. Especially since he was still a subadult. The door opened not a minute later, and Prime stepped in. He automatically glanced over at Nightshade, concerned for the young mech. Prime knew how Ratchet could get when he was in one of his moods. He sighed.

"Well. What have you got to say, Nightshade?"

"I…it just slipped out, I'm sorry. I was stupid in thinking that we were friends and that we could joke around, sir. You told me that I could watch any of the video files in the library, so I figured those would be alright. They weren't labeled or anything, so I didn't think much of it. I was only curious."

Prime winced on Ratchet's behalf. The rookie sure knew how to make a mech feel guilty for punishing him.

"There's a difference between joking and making inappropriate comments, Nightshade," Prime said gently.

Nightshade nodded, his gaze still locked on the floor. Nightshade wanted to rip off her armor and scream that she wasn't a child, that she was a fully grown femme capable of making her own decisions, but refrained from doing so.

"Is there anything else you would like to say, Nightshade?" Mirage prompted sharply.

"I'm sorry, sir, for watching your private video. I shouldn't have been in the interfacing section of the library in the first place," Nightshade mumbled quietly. Ratchet nodded dismissively.

"You are not allowed in the shooting range, sparring rings, general library, or recreation room. You are restricted to your room and your room only for the duration of your suspension. I will bring you your ration," Mirage added. If it took a serious 'grounding' to make the mech behave, so be it.

"Is that satisfactory, sir?" Mirage asked Prime.

"It's your call," Prime said neutrally. He was here only for mediation, not doling out punishment.

"Very well. You are dismissed," Ratchet said. As Nightshade turned to leave, Ratchet looked up.

"I need your identification chip before you leave. If you need access to any study materials, you may send me a note with the materials that you need and I can schedule a pick up time for you. If you have any questions, you will need to schedule a meeting."

Nightshade nodded and dropped the chip into his waiting hand.

"Will that be all, sir?" Nightshade asked quietly. Ratchet nodded, waving him away. Nightshade disappeared through the doors. Mirage stared after Nightshade, his spark twisting. Optimus looked over Nightshade's supension sheet, reading the terms and requirements. He winced at seeing the massive workload Ratchet had assigned.

"Was I too harsh on him?" Mirage asked Prime after a few moments.

"It isn't my place to interfere with whatever punishment you deal out, Mirage, but I will tell you this: suspending him from the medical bay was probably not the best course of action nor was confining him to his room for a week. The latter, with _some_ concessions, would have probably sufficed," Prime said quietly, watching as Ratchet _almost_ looked guilty.

"You must remember that he is still a child. His behavior, though questionable, was only natural. He is very curious and I don't want him to think that he is being punished because of it," Prime continued slowly, "You should have come to me before suspending him, Ratchet. I can only hope that Nightshade hasn't lost his will to explore new things and expand because of your punishment."

Ratchet sighed.

"Should I speak with him?"

"That is your decision, Ratchet. I can't make it for you," Optimus said gently, "Though I would highly suggest explaining _why_ you were so harsh with him. I remember when Bumblebee watched one of your old videos _and_ told everyone on the ship that he had done so in vivid detail. Your punishment was nowhere near as severe. You only grounded him for a few days. You didn't give him an impossible amount of work, either." Prime's tone was slightly accusatory.

"Alright, I'll talk to him when I have time," Ratchet grumbled quietly, wishing that he could delete his guilt subroutines.

* * *

Oh snap.

Nightshade is GROUNDED.

And she has a ton of homework.


End file.
